Wild Justice
by SpeedDemon315
Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. /ValterxOCxEphraim\
1. One: The Lone Wyvern Rider

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, occasional sexual tension, and character death. ValterxOCxEphraim

**One: The Lone Wyvern Rider**

A/N: This is taking place just after the fall of Renais.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashback/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Sacred Stones but I do own Zecilys, who kicks butt and anyone else I created or will create. **

* * *

"Don't get mad, get even."-**Robert F. Kennedy**

* * *

The sun rose, spreading its pure golden yellow rays over the lands. It was brightening the day but not the moods of the people. The day before brought sad and awful tides that continued to grow hard, cold lumps in the people of Magvel's gut. The castle of Renais had fallen yesterday and their king was dead. The only hope for Renais' future was the twins, Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika. Unfortunately, their locations were a mystery for the time being. Almost everyone around Magvel knew about Grado's betrayal and their invasion but many did not know why. Only a few knew and one was a wyvern knight by the name of Valter. 

Valter was a general who served the Grado Emperor and was also titled as the Moonstone. He was pale as sour milk and his midnight eyes showed bloodlust and other inhuman hunger. His long, flowing, charcoal hair was like a beast's mane, for he was one at heart. Those who fought him died by the fatal stroke of his lance and he was the last thing they saw before their soul took flight.

Valter flew on his wyvern Slivegio as the sun was high in the sky with the air that seemed strangely calm. The wyvern knight watched the Grado Imperial army move out into the horizon, in search of the not only Renais's prince and princess but to obtain and destroy the other countries' Sacred Stones.

"Be on your toes, Eirika and Ephraim, like good prey. A special treat is coming for both of you." Slivegio grunted in agreement. Valter cast his gaze downward, hunting for his foe. He snickered at his foolishness; Ephraim would never let himself be in view of Grado solider, much less a wyvern rider. "Oh, Ephraim, where are you? Come out, come out, Valter wants to play," cackled the corrupt wyvern knight.

He was about to command Slivegio to go down just a bit when his wyvern snarled out of the blue. The Moonstone immediately knew what this meant: Slivegio smelled another wyvern nearby.

Frowning, Valter pondered over his mount's report and asked to him, "Is the scent familiar?" To add the puzzle, Slivegio shook his head vigorously and dropped down lower and picked up the pace. "So," whispered Valter, "you know exactly where the wyvern and its rider are at. Very good." Slivegio snorted, his eyes saying: _Nothing can get past me. _The Moonstone squeezed his knees into Slivegio and the wyvern swooped downward, to the direction where the scent of the unknown wyvern came from.

* * *

The female wyvern rider pushed back a couple strands of her mid-thigh length, wavy turquoise hair, letting it fly freely with the wind. Her golden eyes scanned the horizon, saying, "It's another beautiful day, isn't it, Eroniz?" She turned to her wyvern who snorted softly, almost replying her question by saying: _Yes, it certainly is. _

Zecilys sat down on a log and poked at the remains of the camp fire with a stick. Shifting the dirt over the cold coals, she rearranged the campfire to make it look like no one had camped here. She was just about to pack her things in her bag when Eroniz let loose a snarl and dung his claws in the fresh earth. Zecilys took notice of this and understood immediately what that meant. A wyvern rider was approaching and fast.

Zecilys snatched a lance from her pack, a steel lance, and thrust it in front of her. Who ever it was coming, friend or foe, she had to prepared. Better safe than sorry, Xais had told her._ Xais._ Her eyes suddenly felt watery, her memories when she was young flashing through her mind. She brushed the tears aside and pushed the memories back. She couldn't lose focus now-that was another thing he taught her.

She looked up ahead and spotted the tiny, dark speck of a figure with wings and little rider on top. Eroniz nuzzled his nose on her shoulder, letting her know he was there for her. Tightening her grip in her lance, Zecilys waited for the wyvern rider to emerge.

* * *

As Slivegio arrived at the spot where the wyvern was at, Valter was surprised to see a woman standing beside it. The young woman had long, wavy, brilliant turquoise hair that blew with the wind and skin like peaches and cream. Her golden eyes that stared at him were alert and ready, determination and fierceness sparkling inside them. She gripped the lance tightly, causing a jubilant shiver to travel down his neck. She was not someone to be taken lightly. 

"Well, well, well, what do we have here, Slivegio?" he said in his usual sly manner, hoping to decrease the abnormal fiery spirit in this female rider. His effort just made the fire blaze more fiercely in her eyes and she positioned the lance in a much deadlier position.

"What do you want?" she asked sharply and Valter slowly let a wicked grin emerge on his face before answering.

"Heh, that's no way to talk to a Grado General. I am Valter, also known as the Moonstone. You do well to show me respect.**(1)**" Valter studied her face, hoping to see a flicker of fear in her eyes. What he didn't expect the female wyvern rider to do was roll her eyes and adopt a bored expression.

"I never heard of you, I'm afraid. I don't have time to learn about every general in Magvel. What a waste that would be." she replied and Valter forced a muscle by his mouth to not twitch from her annoying ignorance. He swung down from his saddle and slowly approached her, noting that her mount was behind her, crouching in an attacking and protective pose. That wretched mount seemed obscenely loyal to this ignorant, cheeky shrew of a wyvern rider. It made him long to take his spear and skewer it and her on the spot. However, he had to know what she was doing here, in Grado territory. If she was a spy for Ephraim, than it would be his lucky day.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, regaining his superior posture once more.

"That's none of your business!" the female retorted, both wyvern riders glaring at each other, their eyes flaming with cool rage.

"My, my, such a ferocious temper," Valter snickered, determined to get her on her knees and beg for mercy. This girl was becoming more and more of a thorn in his side just like Ephraim. The female wyvern rider glowered at his mockery and pressed her lips firmly together.

"If you really are a Grado general as you claim to be, then why are you here, questioning me? I have done nothing wrong." she said in a dangerous tone. A grin formed on Valter's face. Things were getting exciting after all.

"Why, you ask? You could be a spy for the renegade Ephraim, pretending to be a commoner or—"

"I am no bloody spy for this Abraham or Ephraim fellow! I don't even know who he is nor do I care! All I know is that I must—" She broke off, realizing she was close in saying too much and closed her mouth firmly.

Valter's grin widen even more and he questioned, "What is it that you must do?" The tone of his voice taunted her but she kept her feelings spectacularly masked and only answered:

"Like I said before, it's none of your business."

* * *

This was the first time Zecilys had meet a Grado general and she did not like him at all. Not one bit. He was beginning to be a dangerous bother, unfortunately. After uttering "it's none of your business" again, Zecilys started to feel that perhaps Valter was someone not to be trifled with. But the damage was done and Valter now looked like a belligerent monster ready to spring on its prey. He took a step closer toward her and another step and didn't stop until they were nose to nose with him staring down at her. His eyes blazed with beastly fury and inhuman power, ready to burst open. At that moment, Zecilys was unnerved more than ever. It had been such a long time since Zecilys felt a string of terror, she could barely recognize what it was. She hated feeling scared; it was something that almost cost her life years ago, back when she was so young and carefree, when the weight of strife didn't bare her down. Back when everything was right...and perfect. Her thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind when Valter's shadow flew upon her with his menacing but impish scowl. His hands flexed in and out like he was itching for his lance. 

"Why, it is my business, wench, and you'll tell me why you're here." he replied darkly and pride swelled inside Zecilys throat. She'd be damned if he found out anything of her goals, he'll hear nothing from her!

"Eat me!" she spat at him and jutted him hard in the gut with the end of her lance. Before the wyvern general could regain stability, Zecilys raced to Eroniz, leaped onto his saddle and cried out, "Fly!"

He darted into the sky, sensing the urgency in the situation and in her voice. By the time Valter recovered from Zecilys's blow, she and Eroniz were already a big blob in the cloudless sky.

"Follow her," growled the Moonstone when he got up on Slivegio, his knuckles whiter than death itself and his temper rose to the next level. He wanted payback on that woman and he was going to get it, no matter how long it'll take. Nothing that he wanted will slip through his fingers, nothing!

Slivegio flew up in the clear, morning sky and followed the scent of Zecilys and Eroniz, where they would meet a startling event.

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How was it? More action coming up in the next chapter, so review, review, and REVIEW! Chow! 

**(1) **Means something along the lines of 'you better show me some respect'.


	2. Two: Creatures of the Dark

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Two: Creatures of the Dark**

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything of Sacred Stones! That's all you need to know in this disclaimer. **

* * *

"Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong."**-Homer**

* * *

Caellach, the Tiger Eye, was just finishing polishing his tomahawk when Riev, the Blood Beryl, warped in with scowl on his face. 

"Caellach!" the priest said sharply, "Have you seen Valter?" Caellach shrugged and began polishing his silver axe.

"How should I know? He left about an hour ago in search of Ephraim. I'm getting ready to go after Frelia's Sacred Stone with Selena. Perhaps he got delayed along the way." the hero suggested dully and he continued the polishing. "Send one of your 'children' to find him if you must, Riev, but honestly, why so worked up?" The scowl slowly sank and vanished from the Blood Beryl's face and his usual unnerving grin returned.

"No reason, Caellach," he replied unctuously, "I was going to ask him if he had anything in mind in capturing the twins of Renais but it appears that's futile."

"Valter is Valter. He prefers to do some things on his own. You should know that by now." Riev warped out of the room without responding, leaving Caellach to finish cleaning his weapons in private.

Caellach shook his head after the priest left and slipped his silver axe into his shield before exiting the armory. "I don't know what his problem there was, that sod. Who knows what's in that corrupt brain of his?" he mumbled and went to the area where he would meet Selena Fluorspar to head on over to the Valni Tower.

* * *

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. BA-BOOM! 

Zecilys' heart pounded in and out inside her ribcage so furiously she was afraid it would explode from the sheer pressure caused by the Grado general that was tailing her. He was extremely quick, she'll give him that, and he was already regaining the lost time from when she jabbed him in the gut. She didn't know how long it'll be before he'd be at her heels.

Eroniz, sensing his rider's worries, picked up speed and Zecilys crouched down low in hopes to obtain more power. Sweat dripped from her forehead and her golden eyes were itching to take a peek behind her, to see how far the Moonstone was in back.

_**Don't look back, Zecilys! **_

Tears threaten to overcome her defenses as the-all-too-familiar voice rang inside her head, reminding her to never look behind her when an enemy was following her trail.

_**Always maintain your focus up ahead, never behind you. Only do that if you're not sure if someone is shadowing you or not.**_

"I know, Father…. I still have taken your wise words to heart…." whispered the young wyvern rider softly to herself, "They shall never be forgotten."

_**That's my girl. **_

A grunt from Eroniz broke Zecilys from her memories of the distant past and she curse herself for not paying attention better to her surroundings. Luckily, her wyvern was faithful as ever and was able to maintain the remoteness between them and the Moonstone and his mount. Fresh confidence arose into her bosom as she and Eroniz sped forward, in which a thick, deep forest with a mountain lurking nearby it was appearing into their view.

"Eroniz!" she exclaimed, "Dive into the trees! The forest is dense enough to conceal our presence for the time being!" Nodding, her olive wyvern changed his course and began launching himself downward like a dart, to the trees. He picked up more and more velocity as he flew down and Zecilys was almost struggling to keep her grip on the reigns, lance, and saddle. The woods got closer…and closer…and closer to them. Soon they were so close that Zecilys felt she could just stick her lance out and its tip would brush against the highest branches. Then…_bam!_

* * *

  


_What was she thinking?!_

Leaves flutter upward into the pale blue sky, revealing signs that someone or something had smashed through the treetops and was inside the forest. Valter stared at the spot where the wyvern and its rider had crashed into, stunned cold at their action. Sure the forest could hide them but it was risk, a deadly one at that. No wyvern rider would attempt to dive into a grove full of vegetation and gamble away at the damage it could cause. Valter himself wouldn't try such a thing unless he was forced to, of course. Yet this strange girl did just that and he wasn't positive on why. The only thing he hoped was that she wasn't dead; she still has to receive the retribution for what she did to him and answer the rest of his questions he had in mind.

"Let's see if they're still breathing. To the trees, Slivegio!" the Moonstone ordered and Slivegio took off in top speed, heading for the woods.

* * *

_Oooooowwwwww…. _

"Aaauuuuuhhhh…." The moan from the female rider signaled to her mount and to herself that the landing hadn't gone as smoothly as they hoped. For starters, when they crashed into the trees, a fairly large tree branch whacked Zecilys in face and knocked her half-way off the saddle. Eroniz then was poked mercilessly by smaller branches and twigs. As a result, they tumbled into clustered area of trees and Zecilys was flung off of the saddle and went flying. She managed to land in a soft patch of grass and miraculously didn't fracture or break any bones. The same could be said for Eroniz.

"That wasn't too bright," Zecilys muttered to herself, rubbing her sore body parts, "I should have remembered that diving straight from the sky and into the forest when you're about six hundred meters or more up high isn't the smartest thing to do." Eroniz snorted, his actions saying: _It would have been nice if you remembered that _before _you told me to dive into the woods. _

"At least we're out trouble! I don't see that Grado general anywhere!" she retorted, her face flushing tomato red at her wyvern's comment.

Snap!

Lance in hand, Zecilys whirled around to the direction of the conspicuous sound but saw no one. Eroniz looked around as well and sniffed the air, as if to detect to intruder by smell. Suddenly, his copper eyes bulged, digging his talons into the ground viciously and thrashed his body about like a crazed beast. Zecilys rushed up to him, trying her best to calm him down. Whatever was out there that Eroniz got the scent of was able frighten him this badly sent the chills up her spine for a second.

"Shhhhhh, Eroniz, shhhhhh. Whatever you smelled we'll take care of it." The serene, soothing whisper relaxed the wyvern but only a little. His muscles were still tensed and his onyx claws flexed in and out, ready to ripe anything to shreds that attacked him or his rider.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Crunch.

More sounds followed and the wyvern rider scrambled up on her mount and pulled out a steel lance from her gear. Eroniz prepared his attacking stance.

"Ready?" The wyvern nodded, eyes still glued to area where the noise was coming from. Slowly, to their disbelief, a grotesque, rotten creature limped out of the darkness and into their sight. It was soon joined by two more. "What…what are these things? What are they doing in the forest?" No answer was given. As the three inhuman beings steadily advanced toward her, Zecilys and Eroniz launched their attack before the disfigured things could touch them.

Zecilys easily sliced through one with her steel lance and hit another only twice before it went down. Eroniz flung the remaining one with his talons, sending it flying into a tree. The creature hit the ground with a sickening thud and shuddered, disintegrating before the wyvern rider and her mount's very eyes. Eroniz sniffed the air again in case anymore of those beastly things were lurking about in the forest but the only scents he smelled were the forest animals and plants.

"Perhaps it would be best if we find a pathway leading to an exit outside of these woods. If we find the exit, it could lead us to the mountains that would give us excellent coverage." Zecilys suggested aloud to her mount and the wyvern nodded stoically. She slid down and took the reigns so they wouldn't be separated. "Show me the way, Eroniz."

* * *

Creatures, all shapes and sizes, made their way through the rocky steps of the mountains. They limped or meandered downward, ignoring all the noises they caused and treacherous footing. It would have been practically perilous for a mere human to climb, but for them, it was nothing. It meant nothing to them. They, the creatures of the night, felt nothing nor thought of nothing. All they are were empty, undead shells with only minds worth serving others rather than thinking on their own. 

Suddenly, the leader of the monster squad, an entombed, halted its pace and the rest did the same. A peculiar smell lingered in the air like an exotic yet familiar fragrance all the same, teasing the undead with its smell. When this aroma wormed its way through all the creatures' noses, something in their dull heads lit up. Only one thing could perk up these fallen beings this way: Humans.

Sensing that their prey was near, the monsters readied themselves in eerie speed, forming their attack position. It was treat they've been waiting for: a human and wyvern. This would be a tasty snack, it had been so long since they had savored human and wyvern flesh. As a turquoise haired human riding upon an olive colored wyvern flew into their view, the fiends attacked with blind hunger.

* * *

It was all too late for Eroniz to smell the creatures; they just appeared out of nowhere. The mountains were crawling with them. Revenants left and right, a couple bonewalkers hidden amongst the group, and way in the back, was an entombed. They all looked ravishing, their eyes on Zecilys and Eroniz and them alone. 

"Hell's fires!" cursed Zecilys, furious that she was caught unaware by the monster ambush. She certainly wasn't expecting this! With a heavy heart, she scanned the terrain that was crawling with fiends. She couldn't be sure, but there seemed to be twenty, maybe thirty, of them. Discouraging it was Zecilys wasn't one to give up easily. Smiling grimly, she patted Eroniz's head and he bared his teeth menacingly at their foe. "Time for us to have some fun with our new friends, Eroniz. All set for obliteration?" Her wyvern roared gleefully while she let loose her wild, freakish battle cry. For better or for worse, they plunged straight to the undead with berserk minds.

* * *

Suspense moment! As I said before, I would like those who read my story review. I can assure you (now that summer is here) that the next chapter will come. All in good time, my fellow readers. 


	3. Three: Matter of Life and Death

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill?ValterxOCxEphraim

**Three: Matter of Life and Death**

YES!! Three people reviewed! That made me so very ecstatic! Since you took the time to review, compliment and critique my story to make it better and more realistic, it is my turn to reply.

**Emblem: **From all the reviews I had in all my stories, yours is the longest. But it's not a bad thing, not by a long stretch. After reading your review, I must say I was very tempted in hitting myself over the head with a book over all the errors you pointed out, especially Valter being out of character. My monster army mistake was another thing I wanted smack my head against something. Thank you for reviewing and voicing out your opinions on my story, it'll help me write the following chapters better!

**MeowSap: **Thanks for the compliments; I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter. Funny thing is I really haven't fully decided how her name should be pronounced (sad, isn't it?). Both you and Emblem noticed my grammatical errors (many do) and pointed out some of the same things. I've corrected them all (to my knowledge) and hope it works out.

**Kobrelaire: **Yeah, I'm not too worried about the lack of reviews I've received. Sooner or later I'll get a bunch. Thank for reviewing.

A/N: From reading both of Emblem and MeowSap's reviews I went back to the two chapters, edited them and replaced the crummy ones with the new and improved chapters. Check them out if you like and see if they're any better (I hope….:sweat drop:).

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Zecilys belongs to me. Eroniz belongs to me. The story belongs to me. Nothing else belongs to me. **

* * *

_"Time for us to have some fun with our new friends, Eroniz. All set for obliteration?" Her wyvern roared gleefully while she let loose her wild, freakish battle cry. For better or for worse, they plunged straight for the undead with berserk minds. _

* * *

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."**-Nietzsche**

* * *

_So this is where they landed…._

Inside the woods, Valter scouted the area where the wyvern rider and her mount had crash landed. By the tracks of her wyvern, it appeared they had some sort of battle with something from the forest. Looking closely at the attacker's prints, Valter recognized them immediately. Revenants. Three of them. He didn't know how fresh they were but it wasn't too long ago when the battle began. He turned to his mount, Slivegio, who was busy sniffing the air for the wyvern rider and the wyvern's scent.

"Found them yet?" Slivegio didn't respond, signaling a "no" to the Moonstone. While his mount was trying to find them, Valter looked back at the ground and at the tracks left by the female wyvern rider and her wyvern. Judging by footprints, it looked like they were trying to head out the forest without being seen.

_How clever... It appears she _is_ worthy prey after all…._

Abruptly, Slivegio snorted through his nostrils and grunted loudly to get Valter's attention. Annoyed, the Moonstone turned around toward his mount and said, "Well? Did you find them or not?" His wyvern nodded lazily and then pointed at the revenant tracks with his tail. He not only smelled out the wyvern rider and her mount, but the undead as well. "How close are the revenants?"

Slivegio was about to respond when an unearthly battle cry reached their ears. It echoed through out the entire area, scattering all inhabitants back to their lairs and chilling them to bone. Except for Valter. The yell reminded him similarly of his nature and his spine tingled with excitement. That cry was defiantly human and it had to belong to the female rider. There was no other explanation. He quickly got on Slivegio's back and urged him to fly out of the woods and follow the two scents. If he was right, she and her wyvern were probably just about to fight some revenants, but how many, he did not know. He hoped by the time they found them, she hopefully would be alive. After all, he had some unfinished business with her.

As his mount skyrocketed up out of the forest and into the sky, Valter knew it was only in a matter of time before he and Slivegio found the female rider and her wyvern. The wind began picking up and sky darkened slightly but it went unnoticed by the Grado general. All he was thinking about his prey, the prey that will surely be quite entertaining. Valter licked him lips, savoring the hunt that was coming to a close. The fun was about to begin.

* * *

The steel lance crashed down on the skull its tenth victim and gave it a final whack to the chest before the revenant exploded. Wyvern claws shot out of the blue and slashed two revenants into ribbons at the same time. Dragon-like jaws chopped down on an unlucky creature and tore it apart. Even with all of their efforts, more revenants just kept popping up. 

_If I could find the leader of this group and kill it then maybe they'll crawl back to where they came from. Lets hope that happens; I don't know how much longer Eroniz and I can take this!_

"Eroniz? Can you sense the leader anywhere? A creature with a higher level than the rest of these monsters?" She banged a few more revenants out of their way so her olive wyvern could catch the scent of leader of these grotesque monsters. While Zecilys was busy fending off the creatures, Eroniz took in a whiff air and inhaled the aroma deeply. Zecilys's emitting body odor, forest wood, and the freshness of the trees, the clustering, morphing precipitation in the sky, the foul, reeking scent of revenants and bonewalkers, and the strange, musty smell of a darker, superior being…. Eroniz sniffed the air even deeper, searching for the owner of such a smell and where it was hiding. There…there it was again…this time it was a lot stronger and he could easily track the odor down to its exact location. …He found it. An entombed, hiding at the end of the mob, between a couple of pine trees along the south side of the mountain.

A revenant, sensing the wyvern was off his guard, aimed for his head with its rotten claws and lunged out. Zecilys was preoccupied with other revenants and dodging arrows from the bonewalkers to notice it. As the revenant reached out to slash Eroniz's neck, something from behind picked it up and tossed it aside. It flew and splattered to the ground like a broken, disregarded doll. The wyvern's tail swished back and forth, taunting the rest of its foe to make the same mistake that previous one had made. Despite the situation they were in the middle of, Zecilys allowed herself to crack a grin. The tables have been turned.

"Did you found the leader, Eroniz?" Her mount nodded and the grin widen further. It was time to pay it little visit to the head of this monster squad.

* * *

"Finally…found you," Zecilys said between breathes. The entombed started blankly at her and began to advance. Zecilys and Eroniz switched into the defensive position and waited for the entombed to strike first. They wanted to see how the fiend would fight against them. 

The entombed raised its sharp claws up and brought them down in eerie speed. Zecilys shifted her body to the opposite side of the claws and Eroniz did the same. To be extra sure that the claws wouldn't hit them; Zecilys brought her lance in front of her and slanted it sideways. The entombed's claws rammed into the steel lance and it recoiled from the wyvern rider and her mount. The assault failed.

"My turn." And the turquoise haired rider and her olive colored wyvern attacked. Zecilys crashed her steel lance against the shoulder blade of the entombed and Eroniz slashed at it rotting skin with its own claws. The entombed lashed back; this time managing to cut through the skin of Zecilys's left leg. She winced at the exploding pain shooting up in her leg and grind her teeth to force the agony back. There were no more vulneraries left in her bag and what were left were a javelin and the steel lance she was holding right now.

_Next time when I go into town I need to stock up and earn some more gold. If, of course, I get out of this mess. _

She hit the entombed again with the lance and the snapping sound echoed through out the mountains. Now the entombed would have to attack with a splintered shoulder bone.

"C'mon, fiend, do your worst," jeered Zecilys, trigging the creature to assault again. The entombed's claws lashed out; Eroniz flapped his wings out and flew upward and out of harm's way. While they hovered over the rotten fiend, Zecilys aimed her weapon-with the tip down-at the entombed's head. "Dive!" she hissed and her wyvern obeyed.

An olive torpedo spiraled down at the unsuspecting entombed. As the blurring streak narrowed in on the creature, the human and wyvern scent attracted it to look up. It saw the enemy coming but a fatal error nonetheless. The monster swiped its claws at Zecilys to prevent the attack but it was futile even as one clawed hand grazed the bicep of the rider. Nothing could stop this final charge.

The tip of the lance split through the entombed's face, slicing the skull and brain. Crushing all the obstacles, the steel lance poked itself out of the other side of the head. The creature made a gurgling sound and went limp. The carcass dissolved in an instant. Zecilys smiled in satisfaction at her lance in which the tip had monster flesh wrapped around like a cobweb. They were victorious.

_Finally…it's over…._

Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted inside of her, causing a gasp to escape from Zecilys. This agonizing pain…where had she felt it before…it seemed to be slowly sucking her life away….

_Poison! That fiend's claws were poisoned!_

"This is terrible." she murmured to herself, looking down at her wounds. The first mark the entombed gave her was deeper than the second-that one was merely a graze. The wound on leg was pretty deep and she already lost a lot of blood before and after this battle.

_Not good at all. If I don't find an antidote for the poison I'll die! _That wouldn't be the only problem she'll have.

"Eroniz," started Zecilys but stopped short. Was it just her or was she seeing two skies? _Oh great, the poison is starting its affect._ She blinked to regain her focus but her vision become blurry. Her senses turned numb and her body sagged forward due to complete exhaustion and taxed-out muscles. Zecilys's brain spun around and around, her visual turning fuzzy and she felt herself being thrust into a realm of darkness.

* * *

Eroniz watched his mistress fall forward on his neck and slipped into unconsciousness. Eroniz wasn't surprised, they had been battling these disgusting beings longer than he expected and both of them had their fair share of wounds. Still, there was something more than those two wounds then what that monster gave her. He twisted his head around slightly and got a glimpse of Zecilys's wounds…and a fairly familiar toxic smell. …Poison. Now everything made more sense. His rider not only fainted from the amount of blood loss but also from the affect of the poison. If she wasn't cured with an antidote soon— 

"What are you going to do now that your rider has collapsed?" Eroniz whirled his head around, immediately recognizing that voice. It was the voice of the other rider, the pale faced man. He growled menacingly, daring his new enemy to come closer. There was no way that man and his wyvern would harm his mistress, they'll have to kill him first in order to take her! He fixed his fighting stance, preparing for the stranger's assault.

"If you fight me, your rider will surely die. The nearest town is miles away and you'll never make it in time. However…the Grado Palace it nearby, close enough to where she might survive." The olive wyvern eyed the man suspiciously, knowing full well what he was saying. The man wanted to take Zecilys to the Grado Palace and in order to do that, he, Eroniz, must hand her over to him. "I won't harm her for now; I just simply want to know why she's here. It's quite suspicious to see a lone wyvern rider in Grado. So what's it going to be?"

Eroniz knew what had to be done. There was no possible way around it. Just by smelling him he couldn't trust this man but what choice did he have? If he refused to allow this man take Zecilys to the palace the poison would surely kill her—

Reluctantly, the wyvern bowed his head down low, showing the man that he placed Zecilys's life in his hands. The general smirked and got down from his saddle, walking on over to Eroniz and his fallen rider. The man carried Zecilys over the threshold and placed her on his wyvern. After getting back up on the saddle and securing Zecilys in front of him so that she wouldn't fall off, the general motioned for Eroniz to follow. Both mounts expanded their wings and flew upward, Slivegio in the lead and Eroniz right behind.

* * *

Everything was in place. The only thing he had to do now was get to the Grado Palace rapidly, find Riev or another healer to cure the poison that was now coursing through the veins of this female rider. 

Valter looked down at the rider in front him. Already he could tell the poison was slowly taking its affect on her, her skin was beginning to resemble his own. And her wounds…they would have to be taken care of next. After fighting those revenants by herself for about seven minutes or more and dealing with blood loss and poison, the Moonstone wasn't at all astonished when she finally collapsed on her wyvern. It was to be expected. Plus, that made everything much more easier.

It wasn't before long when Grado Palace loomed in the distance. Seeing that the other wyvern had noticed it too, Valter commanded Slivegio to quicken the pace and his mount flapped his wings harder to increase the speed. The other mount did the same. All that was left was to get the castle without any hindrances and save the girl before death claimed her. No sense having her die during questioning.

The race against time began. The wheels of fate were turning once more. It became a matter of life and death.

* * *

Valter's being the hero? Gasp! Let's just hope they make it on time to save Zecilys and that the cliffhanger doesn't kill you…. :insane laughter fills the air: Till then, review! 

A/N: If Valter was OOC again, I apologize. During the part with Eroniz deciding whether or not he should hand Zecilys over, I wasn't positive if Valter would just snatch Zecilys away or taunt Eroniz into giving her up to him willingly when her life's at stake. I figured he would do the ladder because it adds a big bonus when your victim gives up something precious to them to you.


	4. Four: The Reaper's Mark

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Four: The Reaper's Mark**

Who-hoo, another chapter! Questions shall be answered and more questions shall rise forth!

**MeowSap: **Thank you, thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you also checked out my edited chapters like Emblem and saw some improvement, even if a little. I took up on your offer to read the chapter out loud to detect any lurking mistakes and it did help me out on this chapter and the new chapter three. I'll continue on working and editing them and post them when I feel they're good enough. May this chapter be better and more successful than others.

**DraculasLover: **Thanks. I'm glad you checked this story out even if you never played the games.

**Emblem: **I used many of your suggestions to fix chapter three and it's already up. I can't guaranty it'll be spanking awesome and error-free but I'm doing the best I can muster, I'm afraid. It's has always been a pleasure to receive reviews from you, they help me improve not only my story but my writing skills as well. I hope this next chapter is better than the rest (and I have feeling that there will be grammar errors that I missed, of course) and you'll enjoy it as always.

A/N: Chapter three went through more editing process and the new edition is up. You don't have to read it; I just did it because I wanted to and for future readers to read a better version of the story.

**WARNING: **Sexual tension and hints of possible rape are mentioned in this chapter.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fire Emblem: TSS, Glen would have survived Valter's attack and you wouldn't be forced to kill Selena and they would join your party just like Duessel. But I don't so that'll never happen. **

* * *

"He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well."-**John Milton/Francis Bacon**

* * *

"_**Zecilys, go to the stables! Grab Eroniz and flee to the Rausten court! Tell them what's happening here!"**_

"_**I can't just leave you, Father, and everyone else behind! Where's Mother?" **_

"_**She's buying us time. I will do the same for you when you escape on Eroniz."**_

"_**But who's attacking us? Is it Herthus or Tanalk?"**_

"_**It's not them. The enemy is someone far greater then those two houses."**_

"_**Then who—" **_

"_**Be gone Zecilys! Fly! Don't be seen! Stay clear of archers!" **_

"_**But Father—!"**_

Instead seeing the face of her father her eyes met darkness. Darkness upon darkness. She looked down and discovered she was in a bed inside a dim lighted room. If she was in a room then who brought her here?

"Bad dream?" snickered a voice from the darkness. Zecilys whirled her head to direction of voice, narrowing her eyes at the shadowy figure as if to penetrate the shadows. That voice sounded pretty familiar if she wasn't mistaken.

"I'm in no mood for games, mister," she replied icily, "so I suggest you show yourself." The figure chuckled at her demand.

"You're in no position to be making demands, especially in the condition you're in," the voice replied mockingly. Zecilys frowned, knowing the near fatal situation she was in not too long ago. The poison was strong enough to wipe her out completely. In fact, she was lucky enough to even be _alive_. _Then again, I cheated death before so why not once more?_

"So…what do you want from me?"

"What I asked from you before: answers."

"Figures." _I had a feeling it was it him…. _"I told you once and I'm telling you again, I am no spy for this Abraham—"

"Ephraim."

"—this Ephraim fellow. Satisfied?"

"Not quite. Your word isn't enough to confirm my suspicions."

_Of course it isn't, you pig-headed lout! You know that I'm no spy; you just want to toy with me! Isn't that right, General Mooncalf?! _

"Then what will be? An oath of truth upon your sword? Long, wasteful hours of unnecessary torture? Questioning my mount about our business? Asking Ephraim himself about me? None of these will satisfy you, _General_ Moonstone, and they never will!" Silence greeted her fiery comment and the figure made neither a sound nor moving an inch. Zecilys wasn't too sure what would happen next.

_He'll now probably yell off with my head for "my wretched, twisted tongue" and "lack of respect to superiors". I never really scored high in manners with foreign lordlings and such. I was such a calamity to them…._

"Despite your cheek, you managed to call me by my title. Perhaps you do know your place after all," responded the Moonstone dryly and she bristled. Know her place? Who did he think she was anyways?!

"Yet I find it hard to believe a man like you is actually a general. How did you land that? Help from Daddy?" The next thing she knew a hand zapped out from the shadows and pinned her to the wall behind.

"Why you—" He broke off his sentence and tighten his hold around her neck. "It sounds like you need a lesson in manners. I think that can be arranged." The oxygen in her lungs diminished and Zecilys forced herself to gasp for more air. If only he knew how atrocious her manners were he wouldn't bother with it because it would be a waste of time and energy.

"Don't…even…b-bother…." she wheezed, struggling to unlock his grip around her neck. "L-let…go!" Valter narrowed in on the distance between them until they were nose to nose.

"Why should I? This is how I deal with those who dare challenge my authority and strength when my mood is foul." He increased the power in his grip just a little to show her how bad his mood really was. Zecilys struggled under his grasp and used her hands to try to pry his fingers off her neck. Even if he had no intention of killing her Zecilys didn't want to take the chance. This man was indeed dangerous and could easily kill her without hesitating and having no regrets. "I've saved your life, rider, and that means you're indebted to me. I personally would like to see you honor that correctly." He released his hold. With a rapid turn, he exited the room with an eerie majestic grace without saying another word to her. There was a _click_ and footsteps faded away from the door.

Zecilys sighed and sprawled herself on the bed, staring blankly at the dark, plain ceiling. Everything that occurred today and the day before lingered about in her mind and none of them helped her in getting closer to her goal. Her life seemed to be on the line every time and it wouldn't stop there. She could do nothing about it, save for going back to sleep to restore her energy or find a way out of this place. Her right hand traveled subconsciously up to her abdomen, resting itself above her bellybutton. The old wound still was there and she could feel it beneath the thick fabric of her riding outfit. It would always be there, as a reminder of what she must do for the future and haunting her of the past. One part of her wanted to bury the past, to forget while the other wanted to restore it, to revive it. Neither one of those would be accomplished if she didn't succeed in her quest. The quest that was forced upon her shoulders at the ripe age of sixteen. A burden she would bear alone. It was her duty and it would be fulfilled, no matter what.

* * *

"So, how is she, Valter?" Valter shot an ill-favored look at Riev, blaming him for disturbing his "alone time". Riev sniggered at the glare as he walked next to the sitting figure of the Moonstone. He knew he would find him here; Valter actually like going to remote areas filled with ruins to relax. Why he did it Riev would never know, but it wasn't like he cared. Like Caellach had said, Valter is Valter. 

"She is doing just fine. It's because of her that I'm here. Now scram, you wretched sod!" The insult didn't faze the Blood Beryl at all, he just grinned toothily. He knew by Valter's behavior that the female rider instigated the wyvern knight's hidden dark temper.

"Heh heh heh…. She got on your bad side, didn't she? That doesn't happen very often. Last time someone did that they—"

"—ended up dead. That'll be your fate if you don't leave. Now."

Deciding this conversation would resume another time, Riev warped out ruins and back into the Grado Palace. As he walked back to his chambers, the image of the dying wyvern rider flashed back in his head. He had to say he was certainly surprised when Valter came bursting into his chamber, holding a female in his hands with both of them looking like drowned rats. Riev opened the door to his room, distinctly remembering the scene and their startling discovery with that woman.

"_**Riev!" Riev turned around rapidly to see Valter and a young woman in his arms. Both were dripping wet and forming a puddle on the ground. **_

"_**Got caught up in the weather, I see. I surprised you didn't claim her anyway in the—"  
**_

"_**Stop your yammering, you codfish, and heal her!" snapped Valter and he roughly dumped the woman onto Riev's bed. "She's been fighting your deformed husks for about seven minutes and as result as been poisoned. I need to question her about her presence near the Grado Palace so I can't afford having her dead." The Blood Beryl fished through his bag of staves and pulled out the Restore staff. **_

"_**Don't worry, Valter. I'll have her healed in no time. The poison isn't terribly bad, it only just started spreading. Makes my job much easier." Riev said coolly. Aiming the Restore staff at the young woman, Riev concentrated his thoughts and power unto the staff and his client and chanted the needed words to complete the process. A faint green glow trailed out of his staff and to the woman. Her body was soon bathed in a bright, lime green light and disappeared a few seconds later. Her color was coming back already. Now he had to take care of her other injuries.**_

_**Riev put the Restore staff aside and examined her wounds closely. Most of them were minor, expect for the cut in her left leg. That was partially deep. Despite that, a Heal staff would do fine. He withdrew the staff out and repeated the exact same process on what he did with the Restore staff only this time he chanted different words. Different staves required different words to make the magic work. **_

_**After the healing was complete, Riev inspected her body to make sure he got all her wounds. It was unlikely that he missed any but just to be sure…. After all, you can never be too careful. There was one scar along her left arm, made by an axe no doubt. It was a hideous wound and unfortunately perdurable. Oh well, at least that was the only scar she would bear permanently…wait a minute. **_

_**His hand froze instinctively at the woman's upper abdomen and felt the area again. He was sure of it now, a wound was there-a very large one at that-and wasn't done by his children of the dark. He rolled up her shirt midway so he could have a clear view of the scar. Riev didn't hear anything from Valter so it seemed he was controlling himself perfectly. As the scar came into full view, Riev couldn't stop himself from recoiling a few inches away from the female. **_

"_**No…. It can't be." he gasped, a lump in throat. He heard of scars like these but never had he seen one with his own two eyes. In fact, he thought they were just myths, children tales, created from the foolish minds of humanity. **_

"_**What is it, Riev?" Valter approached him and the woman, puzzled by the bishop's alarm. At the sight of the scar, Valter too, cringed. "What in the Demon King's name is **_**that**_**?" From the pointing to the otherworldly scar and his outburst, Riev knew Valter had no idea what it was.**_

"_**That, Valter, is known as the Reaper's Mark. It is the sign that one has not only cheated death through unimaginable odds and slim chances of surviving, but as also seen Death-commonly called the Grim Reaper- himself. It is said that those who bear this mark have been granted inhuman power by the Reaper himself and will activate when the time is right." He kept his eyes fixed straightly at the scar, taking notice of the eyeholes, nose slit, grinning mouth and the head of the scar. The Reaper's Mark resembled a skull, the face and symbol of Death. To have one bear such a mark lying a few inches in front of him was tad bit unnerving. **_

"_**How fascinating. So far, she hasn't done anything otherworldly, at least what I saw," the Moonstone stated dryly but Riev could tell he was just as concerned as he was. "What do you plan to do? I'm handling her first; I have some unfinished business with her." The same old evil smirk was back on Riev's face as Valter said those very words. Why was he not surprise?**_

"_**I just want us to keep an eye on her, that's all. You can spend as much as you like with her, I have no objections with that." explained Riev, allowing a snigger to escape him as he finished with the last sentence. Valter ignored him and picked the woman up again and headed out for the door. When they were out of his sight, Riev frowned and put his staves away, thinking about what occurred a few moments ago. Now he had someone marked by the Reaper living in same place he was there was no telling what could happen. If they didn't trend prudently they might become corpses.**_

_**"Depending how she progresses, I'll debate on whether or not the Master should know about this," he mumbled and warped out of the room to continue his duties.**_

* * *

He wished he could have killed her. Part of him wanted to, for she irritated him to no end and she didn't need to say much to do so. Normally it didn't bother him when someone of inferior rank questioned his authority but that was rare. His subordinates didn't dare to do; they treasured their life too much to have it staked. But along came this wyvern rider and she knew how to push his buttons and get the better of him unknowingly. Marked by the Reaper she may be, but it still didn't erode his annoyance towards her. Nearly choking the life out of her didn't do too much to uplift his mood either. 

Bothersome she was she would make an excellent opponent for him. She had the right type of courage he liked; she took risks when needed, knew how hold her own ground, and displayed a spectacular amount of ferocity in battle. The battle with the monsters showed that much how vicious she could fight, with little or no remorse. Valter had to admit it, but her fighting style was similar to his. And if what Riev said about the Reaper's Mark proved to be true, he had to be the first to test out this woman's "inhuman power" if it ever emerges. He needed a good challenge every now and then.

Getting up, Valter headed back to Slivegio, who was enjoying the scenery much more than he was. After dragging his wyvern away from a bush of wild strawberries (Valter never understood why Slivegio liked them, he couldn't eat them anyways), Valter mounted and Slivegio took off into the cloud-free sky, flying to who knows where.

* * *

"C'mon, c'mon!" hissed Zecilys at her custom design lockpick, vigorously fiddling with it in hopes that the door would open. Being a wyvern rider and not a thief, Zecilys's homemade lockpick kept the door lock locked and the pick bent sideways. She swore a string of oaths as she tugged it out and flung it aside. That was lockpick number ten. Zecilys glowered bitterly at the door and gave it a good swift kick. It didn't do much expect for rattling the door and make Zecilys feel slightly better. Not much but it was something. "Now what do I do? I can't make a bloody lockpick to save my life and no one's coming in here anytime soon! Errrrrggg…." 

She paced up and down the room, racking her brains to think of another plan to escape and if it was done successfully without detection, she could slip away on Eroniz and flee from the Grado Palace. The sooner she got out of this place, the better. Why waste her time around here when she'd done nothing wrong?

Zecilys scanned the room, inspecting its size, structure, and material. The walls were constructed of granite, polished to make it smooth and shiny as a mirror. The room could probably fit a Pegasus and a horse together and looked conspicuous enough to hold a hidden passageway.

_It wouldn't hurt trying even though it's highly unlikely for them to put me in a room that contains a secret passageway or two. Then again, they might not know if their castle has any. _

So began the grueling process of searching for hidden passageways. First, she tackled the floor, which was made up solid oak wood that was perfect for concealing trapdoors. A good six minutes proved this room was trapdoor-free. The walls came next. Though it seemed impossible for granite walls to have a hidden stairway or passage, Zecilys knew from experience in other castles that stone walls could seclude many things. For example, carcasses. _Now _that_ was an abnormal experience I'll never forget. The Wallis family was full of nutjobs, their middle son being the nuttiest. How he managed to stuff those carcasses in there is beyond me. _

It wasn't before long when Zecilys was finished with the walls and found nothing. "Back to square one. Hell's fires, this is dull!" Forgetting to be calm, she rampaged through out the room, chucking whatever she could get her hands at the walls, ceilings, anything. The door was no expectation. "Take that! And that! And this! That, that, that, and that!" she cried. The prim, clean room was beginning to resemble a disaster zone. She did all this to vent out all her rage and frustration because it was no thanks to Valter and a fool named Ephraim for getting her locked in this boring chamber. This little rampage would keep her busy, even if it meant trashing the whole entire room. She'll have time to clean up her mess so what's the harm? In a way, it was fun and plus, it worked on her aim and strengthen her arms, if only a little.

Zecilys was too preoccupied in her thoughts and her rampage across the room that she didn't hear footsteps approaching her door and the insert of a key. She didn't hear the doorknob turning as she reached for a pillow and prepared to swing it. By the time she brought her arm back and launched the pillow at the door, it was too late to stop it from crashing into the Moonstone's unprotected face.

* * *

Valter always had been alert, always had impressive reflexes when it came to anything. In spite of that, he simply wasn't prepared (nor expecting) to have a pillow slamming into his face at full force. _What the— How did this pillow get here?!_

"Uh-oh." _That…that…wench! That's it, she's dead. I'm turning her into a corpse._ Valter flung the pillow out of his face and glowered with extreme loathing at the wyvern rider before him. She had a hand over her mouth, which made her expression hard to read. She was either shocked or terrified, he couldn't tell, but he definitely could detect laughter shinning in those golden orbs of hers.

_I'm just going have to wait on transforming her into a corpse. This chit hasn't even answered any of my questions and look what happens. She chucks a pillow at me! _

"Enjoying yourself, I see," he stated dangerously, nodding to mess she made. No, scratch that; not mess, _apocalypse_. Valter wasn't sure whether to be amused or confused. What possessed her to tear the room apart?

"I don't like being cooped up with nothing to do. You could have left me a book or two if I'm supposed to be locked up all day. By the way, when's dinner?" Valter chewed the corner of his mouth to keep his temper at bay; he'd be damned before giving her the satisfaction of enraging him again. If she wanted to play games with him then fine. He'll play along.

"I'll decide what time dinner comes-if there should be any for you. I don't appreciate having pillows whacked at my face." The wyvern rider frowned at his remark. Bending over, she began picking up the tossed items and setting them back in their proper place, ignoring him while she worked. It wasn't quite long when the task was finished and she turned back to face him again, looking a little exasperated with the situation she was currently in.

"Well, _General Moonstone, _I'm awfully sorry of having your precious face damaged by a mere pillow. If the throw was any harder it would have been disastrous. I'm sure I'd have to call the healers." she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. A muscle in Valter's left cheek twitched, but to his good fortune it went unnoticed.

_I can't wait to interrogate answers out that cheeky mouth of hers. She's becoming more and more annoying then I thought. I'll definitely have to pound some of that rebellious streak out of her; it'll be a thorn to my side. And I have enough of those already._

"Not only are you stubborn and infuriating, you're sarcastic as well. Wonderful." He took a step closer to her and she took a step back. He smirked. Good, she was on her toes already. Now he could punish her by having a little fun. "Since you're so bored, let's play a game. I'm going to say something that has to do with you and if it's correct, I take one step closer to you. If it is wrong then I take a step backwards to the door. If I reach the door then I leave, allowing some time to yourself. But if I reach you, you have to answer all my questions—_without lying!_ Understood, girl?"

The female's eyes widen at his offer, her mouth opened slightly. Seeing his sneering grin she shut it instantly and glared daggers at him.

"Why should I? It's a ridiculous game!" she snapped. Valter shrugged his shoulders, pretending to not to care.

"Ridiculous to you, but perhaps you only say that because you're afraid. Afraid to take a challenge?" he replied, hoping she would take the bait he laid out. She did. Her body bristled and the golden orbs flared briefly before the rider maintained her cool, collect posture.

"Alright then. I play this petty game of yours but only under one condition,"

"Oh really? And what is it?"

"Don't call me _girl. _I'm nineteen and old enough not to be called that. My name is Zecilys. Call me _that._" Valter chuckled at the venom in her words and nodded._ Zecilys it is. Such a lovely name, it suits her quite well. _

"Deal. Now let's begin."

"Bring it on."

_Oh I will. I'm sure you'll enjoy this game as much as I will. Heh…._

"To begin with, you are frustrated with not only me but also with Ephraim, even though you claim you don't know him. Am I correct?" Zecilys nodded soberly and he took a stop forward. _It doesn't take a genius to figure of _that _one. The room proves that much and so does her attitude towards me. _"Not only your frustration tore this room up, you were bored as well." Zecilys put her hands on her hips, scowling.

"That's not fair! I told you that! You can't do that!" she protested. Valter shook his head, the smirk still on his face.

"On the contrary, my dear Zecilys, I can. You said nothing about that, you just told me to call you 'Zecilys' and I did. Nowhere in our deal did it prohibit me using what you mentioned in the past. Back to the game, Zecilys. Was I right?"

"What do you think?" came the snarl. The Moonstone advanced again, closing the gap between them fast. This was becoming way more fun than he'd anticipated. All thanks to this girl called Zecilys.

"Moving on. Believing that you are here against your will, you're trying to find a way to escape. In fact, before I came him, you tried unlocking this door several times with a lockpick. Correct?" He didn't even need an answer, her face was enough. Her controlled, stoic face was replaced with astonishment and bewilderment.

"How in Hell's fires did you know that?!" she demanded. Valter suppressed a chuckle at her outburst. She was entertaining him way better than expected. It would seem that this Zecilys character was a box full of surprises, both good and ill alike. And he likes surprises.

"Simple. I observed the room and noticed that interesting pile of twisted metal that sort of have a resemblance to a real lockpick. My, my, someone's anxious to be leaving." he said, wagging a finger in mock scolding. Zecilys scowled down at the pile he mentioned, mumbled a few curses, and focused back to the "game". Valter already had taken his step and was beginning to conjure up another statement.

"You were not born into royalty or any other noble house." A total random statement, yes, but he was having difficulty trying to find statements that he knew for sure that were true. After all he barely knew the gir—Zecilys or anything about her. Except she possessed 'the Reaper's Mark' as Riev called it. He'll use this piece of info for when he'd needed it the most. Right now wouldn't be prudent.

"You're wrong about that, Valter." Valter arched an eyebrow. So she was of noble blood? That was certainly interesting, she hardly acted like any noble he'd ever met. She could be mistaken for a commoner or a mercenary, no doubt. "Believe it or not, I was raised in a noble house many years ago. Take a step back now."

His feet moved a step backwards and stopped. He was only two feet away from her and it would take only a few more steps to reach her. The door was about four feet away and it would take five or six steps to reach it. He'd have to consider his statements with care; if he didn't then he'll be seeing the door in no time.

"I'm waiting, Valter. Are you sure you still want to play?" Zecilys asked, a smug smile on her face. The Moonstone ignored her jeer and went back to his thoughts. If he was going to be saying any more correct statements he should take a good look at Zecilys and see if any of her actions betrayed anything to him. Anything that could give him the upper hand.

Zecilys's face remained placidly composed; hiding all her emotions with such skill Valter knew positively that it wasn't fully self-taught. One might call her face a mask but Valter would disagree. He could see some shadows of emotions lurking about on her fair visage. Finding nothing, he brought himself to her eyes. Her unblinkingly, wildcat eyes. This was where she stored all her emotions without knowledge. This was where he could tell exactly what she was feeling or perhaps, thinking. No matter how hard she tried to make her face blank, her eyes would always remain the same. Nothing could wipe out the life and emotion in those golden orbs. Nothing could rob the glory of those beautiful, defying golden eyes.

_Wha—? Wait, wait, what in the fires of Hell did I just think? 'Beautiful'? Forget about it, this is no time to be thinking about it…I have to control her first before coming to that. Back to game; focus on the game… focus…. _

So what was he supposed to say next? So far as he could think of the Reaper's Mark and he was saving it for the end or if he really need it to save his behind. Valter pondered over the event of Riev's healing of Zecilys and everything that occurred. Aside for the Reaper's Mark she really didn't have any other scars….

No…that wasn't true.

There was another one, sitting in plain few in front of him. Trekking down her lean, muscled arm was a long, jagged gash right in the center of her bicep, stopping a few centimeters past her elbow. Made by an axe, a large one at that, either an iron or steel. Valter had similar scar on his left arm as well, a wound he had gotten in his earlier years, before he took up Duessel's dark lance. Valter wondered how old Zecilys was when she received that scar.

"On your left arm you have a deep gash that was caused by an axe. Is that correct?"

Zecilys glanced down at her left arm. Valter swore he saw a flicker of vulnerability on her face as she stared at the grotesque gash along her arm; perhaps the memory of how she came by that scar was being refreshed. She had to have been quite young to receive a wound like that; she did say she was nineteen.

The young woman lift her head back up, her face once again stoic but Valter saw through the emotionless mask just by watching her eyes. They appeared distant, somewhat spacey. It was as if her mind was in another place while her body and soul were separated.

"You're right again. Take a step forward." She still hadn't lost the firmness in her voice but already Valter detected something else hidden her voice. Fear. Vulnerability. Sorrow. Pain. All veiled by a tough, cold face and a backbone constructed of solid steel. After this, he couldn't wait to pry some answers out of those lips of hers; she certainly will have a diverting story for him to hear. Just a couple more steps and she was his. Once the 'game' was over, her defenses would crumble and he'd have her in the palm of his hand.

He took his step forward and erstwhile had came up with another statement. "You are not a Grado citizen; your accent is not from here." She nodded and he took another step. One more to go. The game was as good as his.

"Can you tell where I come from? Answer it correctly and you win. Think you can do it?"

_Cheeky wench…. Still has enough spirit to be cocky when she's in danger of losing? Interesting…she'll be fun to play with after I wrap this game up and get some answers from her. _

"I'll take up on your offer. Firstly, you're not from Renais. I spent plenty of time there so I can easily distinguish their accent between others. Carcino's off the list too because there's no royalty among them. So that just leaves Frelia, Jehanna, and Rausten."

Valter had a hard time imagining her being from Frelia; she certainly didn't behave like a regular Frelian. Then again, she was of noble blood and she didn't act like a noble either. He really couldn't tell a Frelian, a Jehannan, or a Raustan apart. It looked like he would just have to guess. A one out of three chances he'd be correct and he wasn't the sort of man to rely on luck on anything. Nothing he could do about it now, he might as well just pick one and hope it was right one.

"Frelia?" He was going to take a chance and go for that one, he had been around Caellach enough to realize Zecilys and the Tiger Eye sounded completely different. Rausten…that was up Riev's department and Valter couldn't care any less about it.

"Close but no cigar. Move on back, Valter." A scowl flashed across his features before he stepped backwards.

Okay, now the game was tiring him and he wanted to get this over with. His taunting mood was evaporating and so was his patience. There was only one way to end this game quickly and he had the winning card in hand.

"I have a proposal, Zecilys. Let's make this the final statement: If, of course, it's correct I win the game. If I'm wrong, you win. Simple as that." _Take the bait, take the bait. _

"How stupid do you think I am? The only time you'd make a proposal like that is for something you're sure is true!"

_Always ready to complicate things? That's fine, I like challenges._

"How do you know that? Would if I'm just getting a little tired of this game and wish to wrap in up with some risk involve? Would if I'm not sure at all if the next statement is accurate? After all, we barely know each other." he suggested casually. She better take the bait now after this, he really couldn't wait to question her any longer. _Just accept the offer, accept it, accept it…._

"Forget it. Either continue the 'game' the regular way or leave."

_That's it. _

"I'll have to disagree with you, Zecilys." He advanced towards her while she took a step back, puzzled yet alert. "I tried to be patient with you but you won't listen, won't you? So here's the final statement: On your abdomen you contain a scar, a scar notoriously known as 'The Reaper's Mark'."

He didn't even need to ask he what he said was true, he saw with his own eyes. And for the fact Zecilys's eyes lit up with shock and her mask totally crumbled away, revealing a flabbergasted expression.

"H-how…did y-you know about…it?" she asked softly, defeat mingling in her voice. The Moonstone smirked down at her, pleased with this reaction.

"You'll just have to ask Riev. Now since I won, you have to truthfully answer a couple of questions I have for you." That fired her up again.

"Do not! I didn't agree with your prosperous proposal! I don't have to answer to any of your hebetudinous questions!" Valter made a mental note in his head to ask Riev or Caellach on what the word 'hebetudinous' meant.

"You have no authority to argue with me about that. You're a prisoner and I'm a general here. I think that ends this little squabble."

Zecilys opened her mouth to say something but shut it quickly after a second's worth of thought. She cast her head down at the ground, refusing to look at him. Her damp, slightly tangled turquoise hair dropped over her, hiding her face like a curtain of aqua. Her hands clenched in and out to calm herself down in the situation she was currently in. Valter watched her with curiosity; one minute she looked defeated and angry then the next was silent. He wondered how long it would take her to crack and spill everything to him. Time to find out.

"Are you a spy for Ephraim?" Silence answered him. Irritated, Valter approached her and using his hand, violently jerked her head up to face him. Her amber eyes remained calm and quiet.

_Being stubborn as well? I have no time for this. _

He slammed her to the wall and dug his thumb into the pressure point near Zecilys's neck. Her eyes widen. A gasp escaped from her lips as he pressed in deeper, eventually drawing blood. The point of his thumb was stained red and he watched the small river of blood trickle down Zecilys's creamy neck, fascinated by contrast between the blood's color and the female's skin. By his hand he felt her muscles tighten by the pain and pressure he applied. He enjoyed watching her squirm under his grasp. He targeted another point and the turquoise rider hissed through clenched teeth, determined not to let loose a scream. Valter chuckled softly. Zecilys shot him a murderous glare and he answered with one of his smirks. That just set her off all over again.

"Is this what you call 'torture'? I've been tortured better than this!" she jeered scathingly.

If only she knew what the Moonstone was capable she would have regret those words as soon as they came out of her mouth. In fact, she wouldn't have said them at all.

Valter's smirk switched to a sadistic grin.

"Really?" he said huskily, closing in the space between them. He nestled their bodies closely to each other and mentally noting how perfectly they fit together. He pressed his body against her own, loving how her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her breathing had quickened-not from the lack of air-but from the predicament she was in. He had her pinned to wall, vulnerable and at his mercy. …And she knew what will happen next.

"You see, dear Zecilys, when it comes to ladies such as yourself, I have a much different _method _in extracting information from them. And at the same time another part of me gets satisfied. It's killing two birds with one stone." Valter explained to her, dark seduction edged in his words. He never got sick of doing this to every women he claimed at battlefield or at the end of combat. Killing men and claiming women was all he lived for. He did it with no remorse. He was a beast, in heart and soul. And this beast would take this enchanting beauty and make her his.

"Y-you jest…" stammered Zecilys, "Quit f-fooling a-around, it's n-not funny!" Her outburst only increased his craving and Valter leaned forward, his fierce eyes boring into her panicked ones. She immediately twisted her body in hopes to break free from his hold and possibly escape his clutches. Being the master of this game of cat-and-mouse, Valter erstwhile was prepared. He slid his right leg between her own two legs, halting movement from them. With both hands he pinned her two arms at her side, grasping them in a near death grip.

"Does it look like it?" Terror flickered brilliantly in Zecilys's eyes and the Moonstone knew why. She knew what he would do to her if she didn't cooperate. She knew exactly what would happen and there would be no stops. He wouldn't hesitant and she knew it.

"W-wait…. I'll cooperate. Please…don't do it…." He stared hard at her, determining whether her plea was an act or not. He decided to test her to find out more.

"Are you a spy for Renais? Or perhaps Ephraim?" he questioned playfully, loving how defeated his prey sounded. The female rider shook her head.

"I'm a spy for no one. I am just a mercenary. It's the truth…you have believe me." Valter frowned and stared thoughtfully at her.

"Then what were you doing in Grado territory?" he asked skeptically.

"I travel from time to time. It helps me find jobs at a much faster pace." He noticed how deathly calm her voice was again. Apparently she could recover from a mental shock much quicker than normal. Zecilys certainly was intriguing.

Knock. Knock.

Biting back a load of curses, Valter swung his head around to face the door, wishing whoever it was that just disturbed his interrogation an excruciating, agonizing, and painful death upon them.

"Who dares?" he snarled at the door.

"Valter, His Majesty request our presence. You should come." The Moonstone growled, irked by Riev's atrocious timing. He focused his attention back to Zecilys who was just about to wiggle out his hold. She froze instantly as he saw her actions. He had to laugh, this woman really did not know how to quit.

Once again he pressed his body against hers, letting her know who was in control. She tried to squirm but gave up after realizing there was no room to do so. He smirked at her steaming expression.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but duty calls. We'll continue this when I get back." He then leaned over her neck and tenderly licked up all the blood trailing out of her neck, kissing her neck passionately while at it. And as a parting gift, he slammed his mouth into her rosy pink lips and roughly kissed her, tongues and all. After he was satisfied with his handiwork, he withdrew himself completely from her and strode out of the room; but not before stealing a glance at Zecilys.

The female rider remained emotionless but her eyes sparkled with defiance and fire. Valter chortled. Yes, he definitely would have fun with her. Zecilys was one-of-a-kind.

* * *

Eroniz burrowed his head in some fresh grass, absorbing in the warmth the ground had. He enjoyed the darkness sleep brought and was about to drift into an even deeper sleep when a sudden blast of light shot him straight in the face. Eroniz growled, bothered by this, and lazily opened the slit of his eyes. Whoever it was that just disturbed his afternoon nap would pay dearly; only Zecilys was allowed to do that! He was just about to open his mouth and unleash a monstrous roar to startle the stranger when a pair of familiar hands reached out and stroked his scaly face. 

"Shhhhh…be quiet. Wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would we?" said the enigmatic figure. The light reflected of the intruder's face and Eroniz's sleepy copper eyes went wide and lost its daze. He couldn't believe who was standing right in front of him, looking as calm as a cucumber.

* * *

"When we didn't hear from you at first, we though something terrible had befell you." Zecilys smirked at this remark. 

"I guess you can say that," she replied, tossing her head back with an eerie laugh. The curly forest green-haired man flinched at the sound and she simpered at his reaction. She loved it how people reacted to her 'unique' cackle. It made her feel she had some sort of power or control over them every time they shivered or flinched at her laugh.

"So, what happened?" demanded the first man who spoke before.

"One of Grado's generals found me. Valter the Moonstone was his name." She was proud on how she masked the bitterness in her voice for him. They really did not how close she came in losing her innocence for their hebetudinous plan. Really, just how did she wind up with them in the first place?

"And?" pressed an older man. Zecilys scowled at him.

"The rest is for you leader. It's for his ears only." She turned her attention back to the first man, looking straight into his sea-blue eyes. "Isn't that right, Ephraim?"

The man Ephraim nodded.

"Follow me."

* * *

Here you go, my fellow readers and reviewers! My birthday was two days ago so this is my treat for you all. And what I want for my birthday from you…well, you already know. 

I hope the length of this chapter made up for the elongate wait and the cliffy redeems my slowness in updating. I'm not demanding for you to review but I would like to receive some, it helps me know my story is being appreciated and enjoyed. And if any characters were OOC, I'm sorry. Till next time, I bid you all adieu.

P.S. Some of you probably went "WTF?!" when the Grim Reaper was mentioned but hey, it's Magvel and it's not impossible for Mr. Reaper to make his appearance. It's just not probable for some of you. Personally, I believe the 'Reaper's Mark' idea is excessively neat and not hebetudinous at all. Don't worry, the inhuman powers don't make her invincible or indestructible of any source; it just makes her monstrously powerful.


	5. Five: Traitor In the Camp

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Five: Traitor In the Camp**

Thank you all who read the last chapter and reviewed! And yes, I finally decided on the official pairing in this story. Yay for me.

**Kagetaka: **Oh, good. I'm glad some parts of it were hilarious. My funny side kicked in while writing the last chapter. It was literally screaming, "Let me out! I want to cause mischief and craziness!" Something like that.

**Riyu21: **You reviewed just in time for I was very close in wrapping up this chapter. Thus all your questions will be answered really shortly. And thank you for showering me with all those compliments; you don't know how much they mean to me. Seriously.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

**_Flashbacks/Lyrics _**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, the creators of FE: TSS has time to sit around and write this story about an OC character like Zecilys. Please, don't make me laugh. So, go on and read this next chapter, not this silly, hebetudinous disclaimer. **

* * *

"_The rest is for you leader. It's for his ears only." She turned her attention back to the first man, looking straight into his sea-blue eyes. "Isn't that right, Ephraim?"_

_The man Ephraim nodded. _

_"Follow me." _

* * *

"Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!"**-Sir Walters Scott**

* * *

Neither Zecilys nor Ephraim spoke to one another until they reached the hidden sanctuary provided by the forest for their private discussion. The female wyvern rider had no clue on how Ephraim managed to find such a quaint little place but she was certainly glad that he did! The information she unearthed for him was, by her standards, classified. Ephraim was the one who hired her and he was only one who shall hear the important news she bears. 

He took a seat on a rock while she chose to sit down on the ground, placing her back up against a tree trunk. She closed her eyes, savoring the very few tranquil moments life had to offer. It is such a shame they couldn't hang around this place a little longer, it was so soothing and lulling. Ephraim narrowed his eyes at her relaxed form and coughed politely to attract her attention. Zecilys lazily open an eye. Sighing, she opened the other and tilted her head to show him she had his undivided attention. Once the indigo-haired man saw this, he began to speak.

"Your report, Zecilys?"

She nodded diligently and withdrew herself from the tree trunk and her comfortable position. It's time to deliver the news.

"I scouted the land and terrain, just like you wanted me to, and was able to uncover some advantages around Grado that could tip the scales into our favor. The nearest Grado troops are about forty leagues**(1)** away and the closest Grado military keep is about seventeen leagues away. I was about to head back to your camp when one of Grado's generals found me. Like I said before, his name is Valter. Valter the Moonstone." She paused, hesitant to tell her employer the "incidents" she had with that very man. The chase…the interrogation…the annoying "game"…the hinted, possible rape…all of this was events she wanted to forget for good.

"And?" inquired Ephraim, sensing there was more. Zecilys frowned, unsure what to say next. Perhaps explaining how she escaped? Yes, that would do the trick. He didn't have to know about her squabbles with Valter. After all, she didn't inform him about her "curse" nor the reason why she become a mercenary. And she planned to keep it that way.

"After being captured, he asked if I was a spy for you. Since I'm just a mercenary I truthfully told him no. He didn't believe me yet I managed to convince him otherwise by pretending to breakdown from his…interrogation. As for my escape, when he wasn't looking I wedged a 'lockpick' between the door and its frame and it prevented the door from closing all the way. I waited a couple of minutes after he departed my room before prying the door open and sneaking out. I knocked out a few servants who saw me and maybe one or two guards but I got out without a snag. That's all of it, save for going the stables to get Eroniz to take me back here."

Ephraim nodded approvingly and then asked her about their surroundings. She quickly told him about the hills, bumpy roads, and thick forests. It would be ideal, she suggested, that they use the many forests around the Grado Castle-and other important keeps nearby the woody areas-as their camps and hideouts from their pursuers. It would also be beneficial for guerilla assaults, the woods would be there for them once they need to retreat from their enemies.

"We will see, Zecilys," was all he said, getting up from the rock and heading back to his three companions. Zecilys watched him go, observing his motions with her attentive gold eyes. He trusts her, that wasn't much of surprise. In their previous, younger years, they were childhood acquaintances and often would spar with lances against each other. She smiled wryly, remembering how skilled he was and her determination to beat the living daylights out of him with her lance was fueled every time he defeated her in a spar. It was those times she cursed the extra strength given to the male population, it always gave them some sort of advantage when it came down to the uses of strength.

Suddenly, she heard voices drift into the morning air and Zecilys kneeled down to hear the conversation better. Adjusting her head between two well condensed trees that concealed her presence very well, she curiously eavesdropped on the men to hear what they were discussing amongst each other.

"Are you sure we can trust her, Prince Ephraim? After all, she _is _a mercenary and you know how their loyalty stretches up to themselves. How do you know she won't betray us?"

The voice came from the older man, the one with an aging, tired pale face and wispy brown hair. Orson…that was his name. One of the high ranking and most experienced paladins in Renais's court. That is, before Renais become a pile of smoking ruins. If there was one thing she knew about Orson is that that he didn't trust her. At all.

"My lord, Orson strikes a very good a point. Mercenaries' lives basically revolve around money. What happens if Grado offers her larger sum in exchange for us? Many have betrayed their employers in the past. This one could be no different."

That was Kyle. Out of the three knights that accompanied Ephraim, she disliked him the most. Kyle was too uptight and strict for her, and there were plenty of times he secretly showed his contempt towards her. She didn't know why he loathed her guts but she always returned the favor. She didn't care for Orson either yet his uneasiness and distrust was understandable. She was a mercenary and mercenaries tend to have loyalty only to themselves and themselves alone. They live for money and adventure, ready for whatever new thrill comes along their way. Zecilys learned this while staying at countless inns housing these sorts of mercenaries.

Another voice broke in the discussion, interrupting Zecilys's thoughts. She listened carefully. This time it was Forde, Kyle's knight 'partner' and he was disagreeing with both Orson and Kyle's opinion of her.

"She's not like other mercenaries, Kyle. You both seen how she acts, she does a lot more than what we originally paid her to do."

_I was thinking along those same lines. I'm raising the price if I don't get paid double when this is all over! _

"So? That doesn't mean she is trustworthy. How do we know she won't backstab us if Grado gives her payment greater than our own? How do we know she won't leak important and confidential information about us to some local 'stranger' in Grado—"

"Peace, Kyle." Ephraim had spoken. Zecilys sucked her breath, waiting what would be said next.

"If it concerns you all, I will explain why I chose Zecilys to accompany us on this journey. When we encountered her and formed the contract, I did not mention earlier that Zecilys and I were well acquainted with one another in the past." The prince began.

Orson's voice interrupted the explanation. "You knew her before? How is that possible?" The turquoise-haired rider smiled secretly to herself, imagining the paladin's fixated expression on his face. Oh, she would give anything to see the look on their faces once Ephraim revealed the childhood they had shared together!

"When my father was visiting the neighboring countries, he went to Rausten to an invite from one of its noble houses. The house we went to was Zecilys's, the Melkbane House. Her father was the head of the household and was quite overjoyed that my father accepted his proposal to stay in Rausten for several weeks. I meet Zecilys by the training ground, where she was learning how to be a wyvern knight."

As Ephraim rolled on about the past, Zecilys leaned in closer to hear clearer, allowing the words to turn the gears in her mind and drift her back into that wonderful memory of their first meeting….

"_**Steady…steady…move…! Keep your back upright next time! To be a good wyvern rider you must obtain excellent balance!" The thirteen year-old Zecilys bit her lip in concentration and furrowed her brows, frustrated by her failure. Her trainer, Xais, was right. If she ever wanted to be a proper wyvern general in her father's house she had maintain perfect balance on her mount in the sky, on the ground, everywhere. To her, it was humiliating they had been working on this for days and she hadn't been able to successfully stay on the saddle while fending Xais off with her lance. She had to get to use to combat off the ground and in the saddle or she would be a goner. **_

"_**Yes, Xais. I understand. I will do better next time," she replied solemnly, biting back the edge of frustration in her voice. Xais narrowed his eyes at her, sensing it right away. With a sigh, he nodded, letting it go for now. **_

"_**Alright, then. Begin!" She struck first before he had the chance defend. **_

"_**Good, good. The back is straight now…. Watch that swing, now, it could knock off you out of your seat! Parry my lance…nice thrust…close that gap there…. Defend yourself!" Soon as the words left his mouth Zecilys began preparing the counterattack. She braced herself for Xais's brusque assault and watched in awe as he knocked her lance aside as if it were nothing. Everything slowed down as the lance butt neared her chest and her lance arm wasn't quick enough to block it.**_

_**The impact of the lance nearly unseated her as it collided into her shoulder blade. Zecilys muffled out a cry of pain and jerk herself away from the lance's point and knock it down with her lance to prevent it from going further. Xais withdrew his lance and positioned it front of him, calmly observing his student's determination to hold her ground. Nodding, the lance came down and rested at his side. He then motioned for Zecilys to get off of the saddle. With a questioning look, she reluctantly got down and her feet landed gruffly on the firm grass. She timidly glanced up at Xais, who reached out and ruffled her hair as a token of affection. **_

"_**Not bad, Zecilys, I'm seeing some improvement. Keep up the good work," he compliment, smiling widely. She nodded diligently, wondering if training was over for today. "Now go have some fun, my rider. That's an order!" Zecilys giggled and bobbled her head vigorously. **_

"_**Yes, sir!" she replied mockingly and sped off to enjoy the rest of the day. She was too warped into her thoughts and excitement that it was too late for her to realize where she was heading. She didn't even get the chance to see the young boy coming in the opposite direction.**_

_**Down came her falling on top of another youth her age, both of them landing squaring on the muddy ground slathered in yesterday's rainwater. At first, Zecilys blinked, then gasped. She found herself in one of the most embarrassing positions ever in her lifetime: she literally was on top of the body of a young boy. Their bodies were connected-some in the very inappropriate places she did not want to even **_**think**_** about- to each other and his face was inches from her own. Mortified, her heart pound rapidly and her breath blared heavily on the youth's face. She felt her cheeks flame up and did her best to produce a noise from her throat to instigate speech. **_

"_**Erg! Um…. Hi?" She chocked out, afraid what would happen next. The boy just stared aimlessly at her. Irritated by his lack of response, she continued in hopes of breaking the ice. "Uh, well, I am Zecilys Sebulia Melkbane, of the Melkbane House. My father is the head of the house." she explained, not knowing what else to say this peculiar boy.**_

_**The indigo-haired youth grunted but didn't answer. Losing her mortification, she glowered at him, her temper flaring. **_

"_**Say something, mooncalf! Or are you a mute?" **_

_**Much to her surprise, the boy actually responded to her outburst. **_

"_**And **_**I **_**am Ephraim, prince of Renais. My father is staying at your father's household. Now, if you please, can you get off? It is getting quite uncomfortable with your weight on me." **_

_**Zecilys never felt so humiliated in her entire life after that episode. Prince or no prince, she craved to kill him after their encounter but later she discovered she couldn't hold a grudge on him for long. **_

_**Why?**_

_**She pondered endlessly on that single question and came up with a shocking solution and all the mixed, complicated emotions she experienced when around him. **_

_**Meeting him was her first spark of love. It became her first introduction to the emotions she only had seen displayed by adults or older youths. She had grown affections for the Renais prince. And it would consume her. **_

_**Zecilys could not comprehend on why this had to happen to her. **_

Wrapping her arms around herself, she remembered vividly of those rekindled feelings she labored for Ephraim. She refused to tell him, knowing the subject of love-or whatever Hell's fires it was called- wasn't exactly on his mind. He probably never gave much thought of it, not that she blamed him. _She_ never did, until she met him on that fateful day. After that, he plagued her thoughts, dreams, and emotions constantly. She did her best to disguise it but then her parents suspected something was wrong with her. They eventually concluded it with the maturity theory and she was grateful they kept it that way. She couldn't bear the thought of their reactions if they discovered her love for a royal. To a _prince_ nonetheless.

"Are you sure she is still the same Zecilys you met long ago? Why isn't she with her family?" questioned Orson. Zecilys strained her ears to hear Ephraim's reply.

"I am fairly certain that Zecilys hasn't changed personality wise over the years. As for her family, she told me she taken some time off, to travel around the world for relaxation. Her family is fine with her decision so there is nothing to worry about." The firmness in the prince's voice indicated that the matter was settled and nothing else would be said about it.

Guilt ravaged her mind after hearing the last statement from Ephraim. There it was, the lie she fed to him when he asked about her family and household. She had flinched when he mentioned them but quickly covered it up by inventing a fallacious tale for him to believe why she away from the Melkbane House. He couldn't know the truth…it was too painful for her to even accept and acknowledge its existence, much less break it to one of her childhood companions. She feared his pity and that was something she absolutely _did not_ want to receive from him. He was better off ignorant of the torments and woes she went through day by day. It was best she did this on her own, without the help of others. The less people knew about it, the better.

Hearing the men depart, Zecilys got up from her crouch and decided to wait awhile until she couldn't hear their footsteps any longer. Then, Ephraim's voice breaking through the heavy silence made her jump out of her skin.

"Zecilys…you can come out now. They have left."

Emerging with a smirk on her face, she stepped out of the shadows of the trees and into Ephraim's view. "How did you know I was around?" He gestured to the path she came from.

"We talked in there, remember? You didn't follow me right away so I assume you were still in that spot." Zecilys flushed, chiding herself being so hebetudinous. How could she have _not_ thought about that?! Seeing her discomfort, Ephraim walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He rubbed it to ease the tension, telling her it was okay. Holding her breath she lifted her head up, fixing her gaze on the face of the one she secretly loves.

Zecilys memorized everything that her eyes could show her. She took notice of the direction his indigo hair seemed to sway when the wind blew gently around it. She longed to run her fingers through his colorful hair, to feel the soft strands rub against her flesh. His smooth, handsome face made her fingers ache to touch him, to stroke his cheek gingerly. How her mind bellowed out for her to lean in and taste those tempting lips of his. She wanted his mouth claim her own, twining his tongue around hers. And his eyes…she could lose herself in them. She felt herself being drawn into them, losing the conscience notion of time and space. All she could think of was him and being lost in those glorious eyes of his. Her mind slowly slipped away and her body melted. She hadn't felt this alien emotion ever, even during Valter's visit to her chambers when he slammed his body into hers and unleashed his beastly passion on her by kissing her neck and stealing her first kiss.

…Her first kiss that she had been saving for the right person. The person she hoped, prayed, begged to be Ephraim. Now it was all shattered by that knave who probably stole countless of other first kisses by other random maidens.

"Zecilys? Is there something wrong?"

Ephraim's concerned tone shattered her trance and thoughts, breaking the spell she had cast upon herself by staring at his good looks. She mentally shook herself free, dreading her feelings for Ephraim were revealed by a simple, innocent stare.

"No, no, nothing is wrong. I just spaced out."

_Spaced out big time. I can't do that in the future, it'll destroy the illusion I so delicately created to hide my misery and forbidden affections. _

"Are you sure?" He wasn't convinced in the least. Curse him for knowing what a clever actress she is!

She forced a believable smile, knowing inside how broken it was. Her heart screamed to tell him the truth, it pained her for keeping so much from him. But her mind knew it was not only for her sake but his as well. She continued the ploy.

"I am sure as I ever was. Now, I think we better return to camp or your companions will start wondering." Before giving him another chance to exploit her feelings, she sauntered away, holding the act up as best she could. Not glancing over her shoulder to see if Ephraim was following her she walked back to camp, where Forde, Kyle, and Orson awaited them.

Ephraim watched her retreating figure, a frown gracing his lips. In her eyes…he saw a glimpse of sorrow and pain. She was hiding something from him and was afraid to tell him what. Had it something to do with her family she didn't mention at the inn or was it something else? Did it revolve around her capture by the Grado general that she identified as Valter the Moonstone?

_What could have happened during her stay in the Grado castle? Did they torture her for information? No, she looks fine physically. Then what could it be…._

His dark eyes widen, for a horrid thought entered his head. He recalled something his father once told him about corrupted authorities that wanted to get any information out of their female victims.

"_**Many times the female victims are raped until a point of insanity and terror. They break the captive women past their point so they will reveal everything they want and never fight back in their own defense. They then become their toys, their playthings of passion and lust. Women who have managed to survive and return from that experience are never the same. They never have been able to heal themselves. The wounds have sunk in too deep." **_

**"They are broken for life."**

Ephraim also remembered feeling queasy, not understanding on why someone would do something so horrible as to force themselves on unwilling women. He knew the world was dangerous but this…. It was awful.

Was this the fate that befell upon Zecilys? Did the Valter man rape her for information, hoping she would crack and spill the beans?

Horror seized him and Ephraim's heart raced times infinity. He had to know what happened during her capture, he had to! If she was indeed rape then she needed to know he was there for her and willing to help her. Always.

Making his way back to the camp, he also pondered on why she had gazed at him so intently for and when he felt the urge to release the agony on Zecilys's shoulders. For some strange reason he hated to see her sad and in torment. He wanted to dry all her tears and comfort her through her inner turmoil. Perhaps it the brotherly instinct inside him when he notices Eirika's sadness and it was rising forth for this similar occasion.

"Or maybe it is something else." he mused out loud. But what?

* * *

If anyone saw the Moonstone's temper they were either dead or frighten so badly they vowed they would never again be around to witness the wyvern knight's fury. Only an extremely fewpeople could stand Valter's temper and one of them was Riev. Frankly, Riev actually _enjoyed _it when Valter lost his cool and went berserk, the terrified faces of humanity caught up in Valter's rage was just simply priceless! 

"How, in the Demon King's name, did that wench escape?!" the Moonstone bellowed out wrathfully, curling his rather large fingers into fists. His sour milk skin gradually turned the shade of ash, showing signs of his dark temper about to explode. It was rare for someone to _actually_ provoke Valter's rage once, but twice? It was inconceivable!

"Did you investigate the room for any clues that could indicate how she escaped?" Riev asked innocently, masking his amusement quite artistically.

Valter shot him a dark look, growling at the question. His eyes sparkled with a beastly glow that somehow got Riev nervous…but only a little. Forcing the brief moment of wariness aside, the corrupt bishop observed calmly as Valter advanced at his direction. Clearly something he had said upset Valter greatly.

"**Do you think I haven't thought about that before?!" **thundered Valter. Riev sighed; so that was what Valter was so worked up over: investigating the room. Apparently he must have thought Riev was questioning his abilities. Technically, he was, in a way, but not like _that._

"Calm yourself, Valter. She won't be prancing back to you if you scream your lungs out for her, no matter how terrifying you may sound." he said smoothly, trying to soothe the raging creature before him. There was absolutely no question about it, when Valter was angry he acted more like a beast than a man.

The Moonstone sent a scowl his way and stormed off, preferably to the stables. The door slammed shut, nearly knocking it off its hinges. The Blood Beryl just shook his head, wondering how a mere girl could rifle Valter up like that. Muttering "beastly fool", he warped out of the room to meet the prince of Grado and his father for further instructions.

* * *

It wasn't just Riev's innocent little question that threw him off, it was the fact that wench, Zecilys, had not only managed to escape her quarters, but slip out of the palace undetected. At first, he couldn't conceive how she pulled it off but once he saw the unconscious bodies of servants and soldiers, it became clear that stealth wasn't the only option she used to make her getaway. Once he had those servants scurrying back to their dens and the soldiers sprinting for the training ground in mortal fear, he knew it was up to him to find Zecilys. On his own. 

He reached the stables with his temper subdued for the time being and found Slivegio snorting impatiently. He got a couple of stable boys nearby to assist in grooming and saddling his mount (not that he couldn't do it himself. He just enjoys watching people squirm under his command). When they were finished he chased them off with sadistic grin, chuckling as the stable boys stumbled to get away from him as quickly as they could. Witnessing the boys' fear cooled the wyvern knight's anger down mildly and cleared his head. Ready for the manhunt, he swung up on Slivegio's saddle, his lance already tied to his back. His lance would be able to break free easily of the knot when he wanted to wield it in combat.

"Fly south, Slivegio. We're going on a hunt. Remember that wyvern girl you met the other day? She's the one we're after." His mount roared gleefully and flew off, savoring the tingling sensation of the beginning of the hunt. The immense power of being the predator, the hunter. The knowledge that you were in control, unbound, free to let loose yourself on the unsuspecting world before you.

Valter smirked, knowing Slivegio felt the same way he did. They would find Zecilys and he will finish what he started. Once he was through with her, she will curse the very day she laid eyes on the Moonstone of Grado.

He sighed deeply, imagining it already. Now _that _would something to look forward to after the hunt. A nice, lovely reward to quench his growing desires.

"Faster!" he shouted, delight escaping his voice, "We can't lose her scent!" The adrenaline rushed excitedly through his veins as the wind whipped around him viciously. It had been awhile since he experienced such a gratifying pursuit. He was certainly lucky to have met Zecilys; she was turning out to be a worthy opponent for him-which was quite hard to come across.

_So the hunt begins again. Don't let me down, Zecilys. Give me a good show and make it worth my while, my dear. It would be such a disappointment if I win too soon. _

* * *

Glancing over his shoulder to double-check he wasn't being shadowed, Orson continued his way along the west side of the forest, closer to the rendezvous point he was instructed to be at. Hoping he would not be late, Orson quickened his pace to calm the throbbing, pounding heartbeat threatening to burst forth from his chest. It was fear. Fear of being caught red-handed in this damnable act he allowed himself to get into. 

To cover himself up, he told Ephraim and the others he would scout the local terrain on foot so it would be easier to comb through the forest and hide from any enemy soldiers lurking by. He believed he convinced them, it was a reasonable excuse when one thought about it. But…what if Lord Ephraim or one of his fellow knights grew suspicious of him and was following him? Or worse, what if he was caught by _her_?

Orson knew he nothing to worry about a petty mercenary, however…there was something about her that shivers down his back and got on edge every time her presence was close or nearby. She couldn't wholly be human, and if she was, he'd eat his horse!

A rustle in the bushes nearby and a twig snapping caused the paladin to unsheathe his sword and brandish it out in front of him. Swallowing his breath-and his fear-he coolly, yet firmly called out, "Who's there?!"

"Orson? Is that you?" Orson breathed out a sigh, relieved it was the very person he was assigned to meet.

"Yes, it's me. I am alone but I cannot tarry for long. Ephraim and the others think I'm out scouting for the time being and I will eventually have to return to them soon with any trivial updates."

The man in the darkness nodded and stepped into the moonlight. Though Orson did not know his name he was well aware that this armor-thick general was under the command of Valter, the same man Zecilys had mentioned as her abductor hours ago. When he had heard that bit of news he had to shed some sympathy for her. From what he heard from the rumors, nothing good was ever said about the Moonstone of Grado.

"What of Ephraim and his companions?"

"His scout-and mercenary-, Zecilys, has returned and concluded her findings to him. The prince has strategize some well-thought plans that could, perchance, cripple parts of the Grado army. We will be on the move shortly after tomorrow." Orson finished, trying to remember anything else beneficial. The general nodded again, satisfied with the news.

"And roughly where is he currently?"

Using the map the man had so generously handed to him, Orson elaborated where the camp was and where Ephraim's next attack would be. "He most likely is planning to strike here, at this keep, to catch you off guard as a surprise." He gestured to the area surrounding the keep and explained how the siege would go. After he had given all that was needed the man just simply rolled up the map, thanked Orson for the information, and turned around to leave. Orson was about to do the same when—

Snap!

Both Orson and the man whirled around, terror flashing momentarily across their faces. The man, signaling some of his men to investigate, crept closer to the direction of the sound. Fearing the worst, Orson dove straight into the darkness, blade out and ready. To his surprise a lance shot out at him, knocking him off his feet. With a cry, he called out for the man and his soldiers to get their attention and use them as 'reinforcements'. The lance came back and he blocked it forcibly with his sword. Too bad he left his lance with his horse and other weapons; it would have come in handy in this fight right now.

"Who dares?!" he hissed, parrying the lance away from him. He rapidly got up to face his hidden opponent. "Come out where I can see you! Fight me with some honor, rather attacking me in the dark like a coward." Nothing could prepare him for what happened next.

His opponent let loose a spooky, deranged cackle, sending chills up and down his spine. The laugh…it sounded just like…. But it couldn't be! The attacker then spoke.

"You, Orson, of all people, have the nerveto berate me about honor? What is an _honorable _knight like yourself doing out in a night such as this, collaborating with the enemy?"

"Zecilys?!" gasped the paladin, daring not to believe. How did she find him so quickly?

As if reading his mind, she responded, "Eroniz found you. Wyverns are famously known for their excellent sense of smell. I had a funny feeling about you and my suspicion was right. You have been in the cahoots with Grado all this time, haven't you, Orson?" The lance came back, only this time the strike contained far more aggression and fervor.

"Yes," confessed the paladin tiredly. Why did she have to find about his involvement so soon? Why did she have to get herself caught up in all this? It just complicates the matters even more.

"Why?"

Her voice sounded distant, almost childish. The question was painful yet plainly innocent. Orson couldn't understand how this hard-core, mysterious woman could sound so sad and naïve when asking that very question he knew one day would come.

"You wouldn't understand, Zecilys. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot let you return to Ephraim." Golden eyes flashed dangerously at him and she attacked, on the back of her mount. He did his best to block the oncoming attacks, avoiding the snapping jaws of Eroniz and the hellish thrusts of Zecilys. With his hilt he made aim toward her head to hopefully knock her out but ended up having her lance parrying his assault.

"Orson, get down!" cried a male voice in the distance. Without a single thought, he obeyed and immediately dropped down. An arrow whizzed by and landed itself into the midsection of the olive wyvern. The beast made a heart-wrenching roar and Orson saw Zecilys slid off the saddle to try and comfort Eroniz. Seconds later, the general and his men emerged from the shadows and surrounded the wyvern rider and her mount. Knowing defeat when she saw it, Zecilys tossed her weapon aside and focused back on identifying Eroniz's wound.

The general stepped forward, inspecting Zecilys and her injured mount. Sensing her urgency to heal the wyvern, he motioned for healer. In the midst of all the soldiers and darkness, one healer finally made his way to his leader. The general pointed to the wounded wyvern and Zecilys and whispered something to the cleric. He nodded and went to the hunched figure of Zecilys. She stared at him coldly, waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat before beginning.

"My general has an offer for you, wyvern rider," the cleric began, eyeing Zecilys disdainfully, "If you come with us without a fight I will heal your creature and provide it with the care it needs. If not, we will overtake you with full force and your wyvern could quite possibly die from infection."

An owl close by hooted, shattering the thickening silence looming over the uneasy crowd. Orson watched Zecilys skeptically, curious on what Zecilys's answer will be. He knew she wouldn't one to give up easily but if the life of someone or something she cared about was at stake, he would bet his own life that she would accept the general's proposal.

"Be gentle with him, okay?" came the quiet but stern tone of the golden-eyed rider. The cleric nodded and walked over to his general to inform him that the female rider had agreed to their conditions.

Zecilys watched Orson in silent rage as he disappeared into the night while she was bonded by her wrists and already had two soldiers guard over her "well-being". Eroniz was receiving proper medical care, just like they promised, and was getting the best treatment the cleric could provide. She only hoped Eroniz would be alright and the cleric was taking good care of him.

But Orson…! How could he betray Ephraim, his prince, for Grado? Why would he do such a treacherous thing? What did Grado do for him that convinced him to furtively associate with them? Was it political or personal?

_Knowing him, it's probably personal. …at least I _thought _knew a little about him. _

And what did he meant by "You wouldn't understand"? What in all that's good and green was _that's _supposed to mean?!

"Move along, girl!" barked one of her guards, shoving her forward. Zecilys bit back a lashing retort rising from her throat and forced her feet to walk on. She maintained her stoic dignity and continued showing no signs of weakness as they pushed her along the dirt path through the hilly terrain. She began to wonder where they were planning on taking her. Overcome with curiosity, she asked one of her guards. In reply they told her to shut her trap, keep on walking, and stop hassling them. Zecilys made a mental note to punish them later.

So on she went; pondering on what they would do with her once they reached a Grado keep. Interrogation will probably be the first thing they do-she was hired by Ephraim to assist in his attacks against Grado after all. Torture could follow and she wasn't sure how she'll fare in that. Being exposed to countless stories about the many devises and mechanisms tortures use to extract information from their victims, she had a pretty fair ground on what she might face in the dungeons. Just hearing how the torture items functioned was enough to make her stomach sometimes feel slightly queasy and double up in knots. She hoped to avoid torture at all cost yet she regrettably knew that would be highly unlikely for her.

_The only thing I can hope for is to make it out of this alive and get to Ephraim as soon as possible. I must inform him of Orson's betrayal!_

Of course, fate is known to be quite fickle and troublesome. It works against you, not with you. Defy it and you will succumb to its wrath, destiny. That's life.

In which unfortunately Zecilys would eventually be experiencing the woes sent by fate shortly. All it would take is a familiar face of the enemy.

* * *

"Master Valter." 

The said wyvern knight gave an acknowledged head tilt at his name, allowing his most faithful soldier to sit down in the chair next to his own. When he was settled, Valter asked for the reports.

"Do you have any news on Ephraim?" To his great pleasure, his adjutant, Tirado, nodded and explained everything.

"We have a certain somebody in his group to observe and report his actions to us at precise locations. Recently he told us Ephraim will attack us at this very keep as a surprise. We will empty majority of the castle and allow the prince to overtake the castle. While he is busy breaching the castle, we will surround the keep and block the entrance-the only way out. Once he comes outside and realizes the situation is hopeless he will have no choice but to surrender."

Valter nodded in approval, the plan was effective as well as simple. It would take some time, of course, to clear out the best soldiers from the castle to save them for the later part of the stratagem. It would also be awhile before Ephraim succeeds in his daring siege against the keep.

"How long will this take?" he asked curiously, wanting to know if time was with or against them.

"Not terribly long. At the most, six hours, if everyone meanders about and takes their time-which they most certainly won't. If we proceed in an orderly, strict fashion it could take up to three and half hours at least." Tirado replied earnestly.

"Good. How far is Ephraim's camp from here?"

"Our sources say about a day's ride. Tomorrow they abandon their site and move on."

"Excellent. We should be ready by then." He got up from his seat and was about to exit the room when a cough erupted from Tirado's throat. "Yes, Tirado? What is it?"

"When our 'spy' was delivering his report to us, he was partially ambushed by one of the Renais prince's companions. Apparently the intruder was a mercenary hired by Ephraim to supply more manpower to his feeble force. We got her to comply after striking a deal and we have her in captivity as we speak."

"That's great, it is simply—" He stopped short, absorbing on what his manservant had just said. "Did you say Ephraim's mercenary is a she?!" _It can't possibly be her, it would be too easy! …However, she did _say_ she was a mercenary…._

Replying yes, Tirado wasn't in the least bit puzzled by his superior's strange outburst. "To be blunt, Master Valter, I mentioned her because we believe she might contain some valuable information about Ephraim, his whereabouts, his strengths and weaknesses, etc. I was wondering if you wanted the task of interrogating her, it is right up your alley. She is quite the stubborn one, but that shouldn't be any trouble for you." he finished simply, eyeing his commander uneasily, for he appeared slightly taciturn. "She's a lethal beauty." he added, hoping to provoke Valter to agree. It worked like a charm.

A feral grin twisted itself on the Moonstone's lips and there was a sadistic gleam in his darkish eyes. Getting up, he snatched the keys from Tirado's outstretched hand and pocketed them. As he departed the room Valter called out, "By the way, does this mercenary have turquoise hair?"

"Why…yes. How did—"

Valter was already out of sight the moment Tirado uttered the word 'yes'.

* * *

It was _her._ Zecilys had returned to him. After all, how many female turquoise-haired mercenaries were there in Grado, much less Magvel? She has to be that captive mercenary; there was no other option. The prisoner was a turquoise-haired mercenary. Zecilys was a turquoise-haired mercenary. The prisoner was suspected and convicted of being hired by Ephraim. _He _suspected her of being a spy for Ephraim. It seems that his hunch was right all long. And she the courage to lie straight at his face about Ephraim! She was good actress; he'd give her that, and contained enough wits on her that made her dangerously clever. 

Now it was time to test her strength. This time, it was for real and she wouldn't get the chance to fool around with him. There will be no holding back on his part. He would show her why he was the champion of interrogation-especially when it came to women. That event in her chamber was merely child's play, _it was nothing. _Absolutely, positively nothing.

Inserting the key into the lock, Valter turned the key and knob, creating a rustic, moaning sound from the door's hinges. As he opened the door, a voice from the shadows spoke. A feminine voice he was beginning to recognize rather well.

"_Now _what do you want? Ephraim's birthday date? His favorite color? The food he detests the most?"

Valter smirked and let out a chuckle. He stepped into the light, revealing his face and towering figure. A gasp escaped Zecilys's lips as the candle light reflected off his pale features. He crouched down, leveling his eyes with hers. Still smirking, he cockily answered:

"Not quite the questions I had in mind, my dear, but interesting enough. So tell, my lovely Zecilys, how is the Renais prince?" He looked down at her shackled ankles and wrists, amused by her situation. "And how are you doing?"

* * *

There were two things Orson could say to the prince about Zecilys's disappearance. The more logical, easier choice would be saying she double-crossed them and was a spy for Grado. She _was _a mercenary after all and it wasn't at all uncommon if a mercenary betrays their employer for another. Naturally, Kyle would be the first to fall for the lie; the forest green-headed knight always shared some passionate hatred for Zecilys, though the reason why was clearly a complete mystery. So Orson wouldn't have to worry about him. 

Forde would be next. Though he tolerated Zecilys's company and defended her during his and Kyle's accusing statements of her, eventually Forde would force himself to believe the so-called "truth".

Ephraim will be the hardest to convince. From he was just told by the prince, he and Zecilys were childhood friends. Despite the time that separated them apart for many elongate, pressing years, Orson was able to detect a strong, well-preserved bond between them. They managed to mask it remarkably well but being a married man Orson knew attraction when he saw it.

The way she gazes at Ephraim every time he wasn't looking or when he is in full concentration while mapping out a strategy or sparing. That look in her eyes…it was full of promise and hopefulness, the same adoration found in young ones only it was stronger. Much stronger. The closest thing to the emotion referred as 'love'. The years as a mercenary might have been rough and harden her, but there was still a speck of innocence within. A child's hope that one day everything will turn out in the end and return back to what it was. A hope wavering constantly between tirades of doubts.

As for Ephraim…that was another matter. It was difficult, at first, to tell if he harbored any personal emotions for Zecilys besides friendship. After observing him periodically without notice, Orson concluded Ephraim as well shared the same feelings for Zecilys like she. The extra brushes against her hands, the tenderness he showed while tending her wounds-no matter how small they were- after a match, the quick yet longing stares aimed straight at her when her head was turned or if she was busy. Orson saw the concealed friction blossoming between him and it would be him that would crush that very tension by announcing that Zecilys betrayed them and sided with Grado.

…Or he could slightly save that blooming affection, still give Ephraim some hope before he was handed over the Grado troops. The other option was to say the Grado army kidnapped Zecilys again after discovering her connection with Ephraim. There was a ring of truth in that tale, she was their captive at the moment and would remain so until either release, rescue, or death freed her. Once Ephraim heard this, he would undoubtedly hasten to her rescue, right into the keep where he and Grado skillfully laid a trap for him. Zecilys could be the bait, luring Ephraim to her…and towards his doom.

When the sun showered its blinding rays down on the looming camp before him, Orson knew he had to pick one choice or the other. Betrayal or kidnap? Both were believable but which one?

"Orson?" a masculine voice called out in the distant. The said paladin squinted for a moment, processing the man's voice inside his head. Realizing it was Forde, he responded back.

"What is it, Forde?" he hollered back, approaching Forde closer. The red knight rushed towards his direction, panting and face sweaty.

"Have you seen Zecilys, Orson? She left about fifteen minutes ago, declaring she too was going to scout the camp's perimeter." he said wearily, pausing to catch his breath back. Orson raised an eyebrow at this, at last knowing how she slipped off without the other men questioning her. _Sneaky little thing, making it appear that it would be better if there were two scouts surveying different areas surrounding the camp site. You just wanted to follow me, didn't you, Zecilys?_

"I know, Forde."

The blonde youth stopped short, a quizzical expression plastered on his face.

"You do? How?"

"I don't have time to explain but I must speak with Ephraim immediately. It concerns Zecilys." Forde nodded and dashed off back to the camp site, with Orson trailing behind him. Soon enough Ephraim, followed by Kyle, emerged into view. A worried look was on his face and the paladin instantly knew it was for Zecilys. _Sometimes it's so easy to tell that he cares for that young woman…._

"My lord Ephraim," he began, preparing to unfold the lie, "I'm afraid I bring ill news about Zecilys." He allowed his graveness of his tone to sink in, tightening the tension in the air surrounding them. Ephraim suddenly became impassive and his face a stony mask.

"What about her? What has happened to her?" he demanded calmly, but Orson sensed panic laced in his words. Bowing his head, he complied to his lord's outbursts.

"I regret to inform you, Your Highness, that the Grado Imperial army has captured Zecilys and taken her as their prisoner. I am truly sorry."

* * *

And this where chapter five ends! Whew, that one was a doozy! Almost twenty pages, mind you. I was planning on aiming for twenty but figured it would be too long, people would grow restless, and I needed to stop _somewhere_. Life stinks for Zecilys, as you can see. Gets captured twice in one day and Valter graces her with his presence again. Talk about bad karma. Well, better stop digressing now or else. Till then, adieu and review my fellow readers! Take care! 

**(1) **League- One league roughly measures up to three miles. You do the rest of the math.


	6. Six: Heat

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Six: Heat**

**Caellach Tiger Eye: **Tirado, eh? Got it, though it _is_ interesting how close I was…spooky. To avoid any future confusion I've placed that name in the previous chapter. Thanks for name-drop! Yep, I like Caellach too, he was one the very first characters I liked, besides Glen and Selena. To be frank, when I first started playing, I _hated_ Valter (I called him a pervert several times). Especially when he killed Glen, I just almost exploded right there. Of course, after writing his character more and more in this story and playing the game again…I loved him. His actions, his quotes, he's like Caellach, what's there _not _to like. I've noticed the Valter scarcity (the same goes for Caellach stories), too and I'm kind of surprised. But I'll soon fix that, I have other TSS stories with Valter in them! And Caellach too. Thanks for your review!

**Wayra: **You almost fell off your chair? Ha ha, reminds me of something my English teacher said in English class awhile ago (you don't want to know)…. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, this means a lot me. Frankly, I wasn't planning on pairing up Zecilys with Valter and Ephraim, my first choice was actually Seth. After reading that Ephraim is a firm believer in justice and Valter was becoming so darn cool in this story, an official pairing was born. I'm glad you like Zecilys; I was hoping she would turn out alright. I absolutely did not want her to be a Mary Sue-that would be extremely irritating. Enjoy the next chapter 'cause I'm still continuing this story.

**WARNING: **Possible rape is mentioned in this chapter.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: You don't know how much it pains me to write 'do not own The Sacred Stones'. Really, you don't. …Or maybe you do:shifts eyes: **

* * *

"_What about her? What has happened to her?" he demanded calmly, but Orson sensed panic laced in his words. Bowing his head, he complied to his lord's outbursts._

_"I regret to inform you, Your Highness, that the Grado Imperial army has captured Zecilys and taken her as their prisoner. I am truly sorry." _

* * *

"In revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man."**-Nietzsche**

* * *

"You again?!" exclaimed Zecilys. Valter smirked at her outburst. 

"In the flesh." he answered, "So, did you miss me?" Scowling, she clenched her fists before speaking again.

"What are _you _doing here?!" she demanded tersely, completely ignoring his question.

In reply, Valter reached out and rested his gloved hand around her cheek. He felt her shudder under his touch but that only urged him to continue. Leaning forward until their noses gently grazed one another, he said, "Why, I'm here to see you, Zecilys. Why else would I be here?" With that, he closed in and claimed her lips.

Already she was struggling fiercely under his power and he loved it. The more they resisted, the more delightful it was for him. Many of the soldiers he knew would disagree, saying a broken woman with no courage to fight back was more rewarding because they didn't have to worry about them stabbing them when their backs were turned. Valter, on the other hand, liked his women with a spirit and beauty of all kinds; they were always more appealing to him that way. Zecilys had both so he was going to enjoy this nice and long.

Knowing full well he couldn't enter her mouth with just force, Valter tried another tactic. Allowing a hand to furtively snake down her side, his lingering fingers quickly managed to find its prize. He placed his hand on a sensitive spot and using those long, experienced fingers of his, he gingerly squeezed her thigh.

A gasp reached his ears and he felt her mouth widen as it erupted into his mouth. Seizing the opportunity, Valter entered the rest of her mouth with his tongue. His tongue immediately found hers and began undergoing the process of wooing it towards his own. While Zecilys's mouth was under his control, his hands began creeping their way around her body, which caused violent squirms from Zecilys in her futile attempts to be released from his hold. One hand was already working on her thigh-much to his pleasure and her dismay-and the other found itself cradling her head while he lengthened the kiss. He erstwhile had Zecilys backed up against the wall, making it far easier to complete the task. The Moonstone also had his body wipe out any existing space between them. In order for this to work efficiently, she _had _to feel the arousing heat between their nestled bodies and the friction this situation was producing. Besides, her fidgeting actually worked in his favor; he couldn't count the number of times her body would brush side to side against him, sending small shivers of thrills up and down his spine and awakening the slumbering creature between his legs.

The whole experience was just simply exhilarating.

Deciding she had enough, Valter pulled away from Zecilys. She panted slightly, her eyes wide with disbelief and face numb in bedazzlement. She probably never, in her lifetime, ever received such actions from a man before. That boosted his ego, knowing he was her first, the only man who kissed her, who touched her in all the ways supposedly deemed "for lovers only".

"Did you like it?" Valter's mouth curled up into a smirk as the question departed his lips. He couldn't wait for Zecilys's reaction to all this, the image would be so amusing.

Zecilys snapped out her trance and returned to her regular self. "_Like it?" _she practically screeched out venomously, "_What in Hell's fires gave you __**that**__ idea?"_

The smirk widen further. Honestly, this woman was far too entertaining for her own good.

"You seemed a little…dazed, dear Zecilys. You looked like you were off in a dream." His mocking tone did not go unnoticed by her. Her body bristled and much to his surprise, she bolted up from the floor. Shackles and all, she was standing up. Unreadable fury flashed in her eyes and her face spelled livid. To him, her rage just made her even more beautiful in some peculiar way. The Moonstone waited curiously for what the turquoise-haired rider would say next.

"Oh, and I suppose looking _'dazed'_ somehow concludes I enjoyed that hebetudinous kiss of yours or your undignified behavior! It's not every day I get tossed into a dungeon cell and later get smooched by the very man who's here to interrogate me!" she retorted furiously, hands balling up into fists. Her face was turning scarlet and she looked like she would want to nothing more but strangle the Moonstone right then and there.

"You are so lucky I'm in chains." she hissed in a deadly, low voice. Valter chuckled divertingly at the empty threat. Even if she was in chains he wouldn't have to fear her, he has the upper hand.

"You don't like my kisses? Very well, I go back towards interrogation. We'll see then how you'll like **that.**"

Zecilys found herself being slammed back to the wall, only this time with a much greater force. The mocking, amused Valter disappeared and was replaced with a more sadistic, diabolical one. His black eyes, devoid of warmth, bored straight into hers, as if they were penetrating her very soul. She didn't like where this was going.

"What do you know about Ephraim?" Even his voice somehow changed. It seemed deeper and more demanding. His whole demeanor radiated the message that if she didn't answer his questions the consequences would be deadly. Zecilys couldn't help it but to feel intimidated while being chained to a wall and under the Moonstone's menacing shadow. Being sandwiched between those two didn't help the dilemma either.

The grip on her arm tighten, a warning telling her to cooperate and answer. Her head raced wildly to think up a believable reply and how to get out of this. She licked her lips to subdue the dryness and cleared her throat.

"I really don't see why you need to me to tell you anything, that's Orson's job." The image of the traitorous paladin was conjured in her head and she mentally shook it away. She really didn't need to think about the one person who landed her in this mess and was secretly assisting Ephraim's downfall. If only Eroniz hadn't stepped on that hebetudinous twig they'd be back at the camp, announcing Orson's betrayal!

There was no change in the Moonstone's expression. He just continued to stare at her. It unnerved her. "Why are you doing that? …Stop staring at me!" she cried out, irritated yet wary. No reply cam from Valter, he just withdrew himself from her space but his eyes never left her. What was he up to?

"I have a question for you, Zecilys," he began, his tone serious and grave, "And it's nothing like the previous ones."

_Obviously, since you have all of a sudden turned sober and lost the lustful manner of yours! _

"Are you willing to sacrifice anything to this foreign prince? Sacrifice it all?" His question slightly troubled her. Where was he getting at?

Their eyes leveled with one another, onyx to gold, predator to prey. Valter leaned his body forward until his lips barely brushed the side of Zecilys's cheek. His chest compressed against hers and he heard a sharp intake of breath. With another smirk, he flicked his tongue out like a snake and licked the earlobe of her left ear. This time a parted gasp escaped Zecilys's throat and he savored his little triumph. Yet before he did anything else, he asked her the fate-sealing question.

"Will you immolate your virginity for him?" he whispered huskily in her ear. Then there was silence. There wasn't a sound heard or made-save the breathing of Zecilys-in the dungeon. He had struck the rider speechless. "Well? What's your answer, dear Zecilys?"

* * *

"Grado forces have her?" Orson nodded. The Renais prince grimaced, hating the thought of what they would do to her under captivity. "What direction would you say they were going, Orson?" 

The paladin frowned for a bit, looking like he was struggling to remember. Inside, Orson was really struggling if he should give Ephraim that kind of information. _But then again, they want me to draw him to Renvall so I guess that's the way I'll go. _

"North, I believe. They seemed to be in hurry." Ephraim nodded, sated with this for the time being. He turned to Forde and Kyle, who both were waiting for his decision.

"Forde, how are we on supplies and equipment?" he asked the red knight.

"It's not looking good," Forde began, reminiscing yesterday's check, "Our weapons are in bad shape and we're running low on food." He hesitated a bit, for he was about to suggest something he knew Ephraim would fully refuse to do.

"We can probably restock at a nearby village but—" Already Ephraim was shaking his head so he broke off. He knew it.

"No, that's not an option. We're in enemy territory. I will not involve innocents if I can avoid it." A smile grew on Forde's face. He was expecting his prince to say something along those lines.

"Yeah, I knew you'd say that. I mean, it's because of stuff like that that we've stuck with you so far. But eventually, we do need to face reality. What are we going to do?"

Then Kyle spoke up. "Word of mouth has it that the invasion of Renais has progressed quite far. I've heard that the capital has fallen." His words brought a thick, cynical mood over the men, increasing the grimness of the situation. Things were getting worse and worse by the minute. Ephraim's eyes clouded and he frowned at this bit of most recent news.

"Hm…. So soon…." His eyes suddenly lost their worry and firm determination was washed anew over him. "Still, my father is in the capital and he won't surrender easily." It sounded like he was trying to assure himself the safety of his father and sister rather confirming it to his men directly. He then turned to Forde and Kyle, the final decision already in his eyes before he even began talking. The two knights, alert, nodded for their next orders.

"Our mission here is to harry the troops, to distract their eye. Hopefully, we'll be able to give my father and Eirika time to escape. Also, while we do this, we make our way to rescue Zecilys." He turned back to Orson. "You said they went north, right? Isn't Renvall located that way and the closest keep to our camp? And…coincidently enough, it's the very keep I plan to besiege." This certainly jerked both knights around, they thought he meant something totally, altogether different. In the beginning, he said surround or possibly attack troops around Renvall. …Didn't he?

"Come again?" stammered Kyle, extremely ruffled by Ephraim's reckless statement. The same could be said for Forde.

"We're going to capture Renvall." The seriousness in the prince's tone was genuine and he _did _seem, well, stable.

All of this was too much for Forde, for the next word that burst out of his mouth was:

"W-what?!"

* * *

"Seth, how fare the others?" asked an indigo-haired, porcelain figure. The silver-clad paladin looked down at the young woman before him, seeing the concern for her band at once. 

"They're faring quite well, milady. There is no need for you to distress yourself so." She nodded, satisfied with her protector's confirmation.

"Alright. What about you?"

Seth displayed his usual stoic, stern expression before replying. "I am fine, Princess Eirika. It's me who should be looking after you. It's my duty." Eirika smiled softly at Seth's comment to her question. Seth was always such a diligent solider, the pride of Renais's military. He was loyal to the end, a trait Eirika found very admirable in him.

"I understand, Seth. It's just…." Pausing, she bit her lip. What she was about to confide to Seth for assurance still sent unpleasant chills down her back. "I can't believe Emperor Vigarde is actually planning the destruction of the Sacred Stones. Aren't they all we have as a shield against those…those abominations?"

Seth nodded, understanding his princess's incredulity. Even himself could not swallow the female blonde cleric's tale of the Silent Emperor plotting to vanquish the power of the stones. It was implausible, so far-fetched it was hard to almost take seriously. Yet…the cleric called Natasha was proving her worth and it was unlike him to consider her trustworthy so quickly. She was still from Grado and that was something that shouldn't be overlooked.

"Ridiculous as it may sound, we must handle this piece of news cautiously. If Emperor Vigarde is indeed out for the Sacred Stone's demise then we must insure that the other nations housing the stones are warned."

"That sounds good…." Eirika yawned widely. Today's battle exhausted her completely and her body was demanding for some good-night's sleep. "I guess it's time for some shut-eye. You should get some too, Seth. You need to rest those wounds."

"I have first shift, but I will do as you command, Your Highness." Eirika blushed faintly at his stubbornness to remain calling her by that title. No matter how many times she'd ask him to stop, he'd would simply reply that the title was rightfully hers and say no more. Eirika found it hard to win in an argument against him.

"It wasn't a command, it was a request. Please, do get some sleep after your shift." Seth said nothing but bowed before existing to take his watch.

"By your leave, Princess Eirika."

* * *

"What is it, Zecilys? Don't keep me waiting." 

_He can't be serious! Is this one of his games again?!_

Zecilys found it incredibly difficult to look at Valter straight in the eye without her stomach churning or having a portion of her emotions leaking through. Things just couldn't get a worse, could they?

The whole situation was simple, to be precise. He wanted to know if she was willing to immolate her innocence for Ephraim to keep his location and intentions private. Basically, if she said yes, he'd rape her till she breaks or confesses everything he wants to hear.

_Ephraim…. _

She wondered how he was faring, if he was still out of Grado's clutches. She certainly hoped so. The thought of him in chains beside her wasn't at all comforting, despite having him at her side. She'd rather be alone in captivity while he still has a fighting chance then them being imprisoned together, doomed for possible execution. Zecilys was acquiescent to assist Ephraim in his strike against the Grado Empire and swore to herself she would do anything to protect him and his cause. Even this. After all, she did love him.

Smiling secretly, for she had her answer, Zecilys lifted her eyes back into the eyes belonging to Valter. He looked at her quizzically, wondering about her odd grin and the abrupt mood changed.

"You asked me for my answer, did you not? I have it, Valter." Her eyes stared defiantly into his, her small grin never wavering.

"I will. I'll give up anything for him. For he is someone worth sacrificing for." There. She said it. Now all she had to was wait for Valter's reaction. She was fully prepared to lose her virginity to him. If it kept Ephraim safe, then so be it. She would do a thousand times over and a thousand times again to insure his well-being and success.

"I'm ready," she added softly, noting how surprisingly silent the Moonstone was. Had she, by any chance, stunned him to the bone with her reply? Did he think she wouldn't do such a thing for her prince?

Valter withdrew his presence and took a step back. His face was a mask and only his eyes showed his cool, satanic demeanor, minus the usual savagery that was seen on the battlefield. After seconds of unbearable, suffocating silence, he finally spoke.

"I'll leave you to reconsider your answer." He left the room in curt, brisk style and banged the dungeon door shut, causing the slamming sound to vibrate vociferously inside the dungeon. Zecilys didn't even wait to listen for the fading footsteps before crashing back to the ground. The chains attached her wrists and ankles produce a dull, clattering noise, adding the effect to the shattered silence.

_What on earth was that all about? _

"Why didn't he rape me? Wasn't that he implying he'd do?"

Only the returning silence greeted her words. Perplexed by all means, Zecilys leaned her back up against the wall, her head hanging sideways. She wanted to figure out Valter's immediate departure and why he told her to rethink her answer. She told him she was ready yet he thought so otherwise. Why did this man have to be so darn confusing?!

_I guess there's more than what meets the eye with General Mooncalf…. _

A huge, unladylike yawn emerged and out of habit, she cover her mouth discreetly. Her eyelids became heavy, her body weary and exhausted from all the events of today, and she felt physically and emotionally drained. She desperately needed some sleep, since her last rest was the day before yesterday. Besides, if she was ever going to devise a successful escape route she needs to think clearly and have a decent amount of rest to rejuvenate her energy. Adjusting herself in a more comfortable position, (though the whole notion was simply laughable for nothing was comfortable in rusty, metal chains) Zecilys shut her eyes and waited for deep sleep to come and take her into its whim. Eventually, it did and she was out like a light.

* * *

Valter really couldn't understand this woman called Zecilys. She was a mercenary for starters and mercenaries weren't suppose to be so loyal to their employers. They were suppose to be looking out for the larger sum and move on to their next assignment. Zecilys did neither of these. She firmly and unbendingly declared she would rather lose her virginity than reveal Ephraim's intentions and whereabouts to him. 

She would die for that bothersome Renais prince. He'd seen it in her eyes.

"Why?" he hissed through clenched teeth. His mind kept on replaying the image of her impassive face, the golden eyes shimmering so truly and brightly, and with that bitter grin hiding a tiny little secret. Why was she so disgustingly loyal to that whelp Ephraim? What was he to her?

He made his way to his room so he could sort out everything his brain was hurling at him all at once. He had to solve these puzzling puzzles Zecilys had so kindly set up for him, for if he didn't, it would drive him crazy to no ends.

Closing the door behind him, Valter took a seat on the only chair in the room and placed his elbows gruffly on the shabby, wooden desk. He stared absentmindedly at the rolls of paper strewn across the surface of his desk, contemplating on the behavior of a certain wyvern rider who was haunting his conscience at the moment.

"So, what drives her to do such a thing, to risk her innocence? All for the sake of Ephraim, her employer? What makes her so earnestly, so furiously fidelity to him?" he questioned himself out loud. As his fingers rapped impatiently at the desk, Valter brood over these questions and tried to produce any answers for himself. Much to his surprise, another question popped up but it was unlike the earlier ones.

"Is it really just loyalty or possibly something more? Something like…." He trailed off, searching for the right word. It came to him, like an arrow hitting its target. "…like affection."

His mouth sounded out the one word that was strange, alienable to him.

"Love."

It would appear Zecilys harbored some affection for the prince Ephraim. Maybe even at the point at what the locals call "love". Whatever it should be called, the adoration she held for the prince seemed remarkably strong. It was a wonder on how long she had been nursing this obscure feeling for the little princeling.

Despite of what he concluded, a frown graced the wyvern general's features. He knew he should be smirking instead, delighted that he has something he can use against Zecilys to bring her down to his knees. He should be heading over to the dungeons right this minute and begin his mental torture. He should be taunting her, telling her about what he just found out and mock at her affections. He should be tormenting her, saying that the "oh mighty" Ephraim would never fall in love with her, never return her feelings because she was a mere, baseborn mercenary, unworthy of royal blood.

However he wasn't and that bugged him. He couldn't find the urge to move and do all that. The amusement he should be feeling after the discovery was most certainly not appearing. The only emotion he felt was annoyance. No, that wasn't quite right, it was far more powerful than that. It mingled around rage but it wasn't that either. So what in the Demon King's name was it?

The idea to ask Caellach or Riev crossed his mind but he dismissed it instantly. If there was one thing he absolutely, flat-out refused to discuss with them about was his own feelings. That was strictly off-limits and it's a topic he'd preferred to sort on his own. Little good it's doing to him right now.

"This is of no use. The sooner I capture Ephraim, the sooner this all goes away." The Moonstone muttered to himself, arising from his chair. He exited his chambers and once again headed back to the stables. He decided to fly back to the Grado Keep and see if anything of interest lied there. If not, he'll find something else to occupy himself in. But first, he'll have to inform Tirado to transport Zecilys to another fortress. Grado Keep would beneficial; there would be no way that Ephraim would siege that castle with such puny numbers.

With this food for thought, Valter altered his steps and started searching for his adjutant who was probably in the middle of evacuating the best of his army and placing petty mercenaries in their place as mere pawns.

As he went to go look for Tirado, the ambiguous emotion he had no name for still lingered inside of him, plaguing his thoughts constantly. Valter really couldn't wait to get on Slivegio and in open air to rid himself of this irksome feeling that was right now screwing around with his mind and messing up his duties. He didn't like things he couldn't name and introduced change within him.

* * *

Caellach the Tiger Eye was irritated beyond belief. His and Selena's sojourn to the Valni Tower got delayed because the rest of their forces weren't "ready yet" or "equipped enough" to survive the trip. Selena was mildly annoyed with this as well but she put up with them. Caellach marveled on how she could withstand her underlings' incompetence, stuff like that always had bothered him. 

Now he was stuck in Renvall until further notice. What was worse, there was nothing for him to do. Did his life stink or what?

The hero surveyed his surroundings, watching the imperial troops neatly gathering supplies and gear to take with them. Horses and wyverns were being taken out with care and infantry was assembled in its regular, disciplined fashion.

"General Caellach!"

Hearing his name, the Tiger Eye swerved his head to face a flushed solider with an urgent look. "What's the matter?" he asked casually, hoping the tired solider had something worthwhile for him to do. If not, he'd go train by himself with his axe.

"The prisoner we are supposed to transfer to the Grado Keep is resisting. The men are having trouble restraining her. We are in dire need of your assistance. Will you please come with me?" At this, Caellach had to sigh. Couldn't ANYTHING get done here?

_Well, what do I have to lose? I'm bored anyways. Might as well see how bad the chaps are faring against the prisoner. _

"Sure. Why not."

With a grateful nod, the soldier took him down the hallway leading towards the dungeons. After telling him over and over how feisty and rebellious the prisoner was, he warned Caellach not underestimate her. "That's what we did at first and look where it's landed us." With that said, the solider swung open the termite-bitten door and let Caellach enter the room first. When the Tiger Eye saw the sight for himself, he had to use all self-control he had to restrain the laughter that was threatening to explode.

There was the prisoner, wriggling and flailing for all her life's worth and so far, she was faring pretty well. Three men were trying to get a good grip on her but were failing miserably. One was even receiving the ends of her sharp aimed kicks. If any one of them was in Caellach's spot, they'd be embarrassed by how comical the situation was.

"What's this? Three men can't hold down a mere woman? What kind of soldiers are you?!" he barked at them, startling them all and they froze.

The three soldiers flushed crimson, humiliated that their superior was seeing them getting beat by a young woman who is still partially bonded. Their heads sagged and they cast their eyes at the floor to avoid the Tiger Eye's penetrating stare. Only the imprisoned female returned his gaze. Golden orbs shined scathingly and furiously at him as if they were accusing him of interrupting her only chance of possible escape. This actually gave him time look over the prisoner they were supposed to be transferring.

Even from where he was standing he could tell she was quite the catch, she really was pleasant on the eyes. A nice, smooth, oval face with a semi-small nose, full lips and those eccentric, lulling golden eyes were certainly enough to attract a curious stare alone. Her wild, tangled turquoise hair traveled far past her shoulders and ended somewhere around the high midsection of her legs. Though the stay at the dungeons made her a little worse for wear, Caellach had to say she still was a beauty. Maybe his day was turning around for the better.

Remembering why he was here, Caellach pointed to the three men, saying, "Alright, you three, get out of here. Let me handle this. When you hear me yell for you to open the door, open it. Can you sods handle such a simple task or will I need to find replacements?" Abashed, the soldiers nodded wordlessly and exited the room, leaving Caellach alone with the golden-eyed prisoner. Caellach offered her a grin; however, she did not return the favor. She eyed him suspiciously, like a wounded animal watching a human-being that was attempting to aid it. She got back up to her feet and held her ground, waiting for him to make the first move or speak. When he did neither, she spoke.

"So, what are you going to do with me that they didn't? As you saw, one man, let alone three, couldn't hold me down so why do you think you'll be any different?"

The grin came back and he answered, "Because I'm stronger."

To prove his point, he darted towards her and pinned her to the wall in a matter of seconds. A look of shock washed over the female's face and for a moment, she didn't resist. Then the shock was over and she went back in trying to escape her captor's grip on her. As she squirmed and fidgeted, Caellach laughed silently in his head, amused by this set of actions. Couldn't she get through that head of hers that resistance is futile against him and she was fighting a losing battle? Or was she just very dense or stubborn? Or perhaps both?

"Look, girl, if you keep on fighting it will only get worse. If you stop and walk out with me like a good little captive I'm sure I'll find you cozy little room for you to stay at. You'll still be a prisoner but it sure beats the dungeons of the Grado Keep."

A snarl exploded from her throat and fury flashed in her eyes. In her anger, she gave him a swift kick in the shin, earning a grunt from the Tiger Eye. _Curse her, doesn't she _ever _listen?_

"What kind of fool do you take me for?!" she spat, "Do you honestly think anyone would believe that little bribe of yours? You're messing with the wrong wyvern rider, you lout, because I don't take orders from anyone!"

Caellach frowned at her insurgent outburst. This was taking a lot longer that he thought it would. It was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Oh really? Somehow I have to disagree with you on that." He tightened his grip on her wrists, squeezing them rather painfully. The women winced but otherwise remained silent. She still continued to worm about so he forced his body unto hers, causing a friction of heat and tension. This alarmed her more than when he just captured her wrists and had her up against the wall. It looked like she had been stuck in the position before and it didn't turn out so well. Caellach took this bit of information to his advantage.

"What's wrong, girl?" He whispered seductively into her ear, his breath fanning the side of her check, "Can't take the heat?" She bristled and he waited for her to retaliate.

"Heat? You call this 'heat'? Your friend Valterproduced more heat than this!" she jeered, not stopping a moment to process what she had just said. At her words, Caellach raised both eyebrows. How did that creep Valter fit into this? What sort of connections did she have with him?

"More heat than me, eh? So you're acquainted with that freak. That's troubling, to think of what he might have done to you. If you met him than you really shouldn't fear me, I'm by far gentler with women than that monster is." This earned him a snort.

"Gentler? Surely you jest." The wyvern rider switched from enragement to bitter amusement in a heartbeat. He wondered if this drastic change in moods was typical for her.

"Don't be like that, girl. Aren't I'm treating you better than he is?" The rider shook her head vigorously and scowl swept across his features. "You're lying." Again, the rider shook her head, this time there was no amusement sparkling in her eyes. Caellach did not like what she was saying so he continued to accuse her with lying; he _did not _what to be lumped together with pale-faced freakshow.

"I told you once, and I'm telling you again. You. Are. No. Better. Than. He. Is."

Now, after when she made her little statement, Caellach wasn't expecting anything coming up and kneeing him straight in the groin. He didn't expect her to pack quite a punch in that…er, leg of hers. All this was streaming across inside his head as he automatically released her and doubled over in agonizing pain while curses were spurting out of his mouth. The women spared not a single glance at him; she just dove towards the door, yanked it open, and raced out. He heard sounds of scuffle and more groans and howls of pain similar to his own. Caellach bitterly chuckled, knowing they were going through the same situation he was currently in. At least he had the luxury of no one seeing him in his crumpled state.

"Run, girl," he whispered hoarsely, "Run as fast as you can. 'Cause once I'm up there will be no where for you to go."

* * *

Zecilys could not believe her luck. She actually managed to not only take down a Grado _general _but also surprised the four other guards and took them down with not too much trouble. Okay, so she hit them where it hurts but still, a victory's a victory. 

She rejoiced about her narrow escape from the dungeons but she wasn't out of the water…yet. Now she just had to find a way out of this keep without being seen, find the wyvern stables, gear up Eroniz, and get out of here. _Easier said then done. How I am supposed to find an exit in this stinking maze?! _

"Where is she? Do you see her?" yelled a masculine voice nearby.

_Erg! So soon! They must have been checking up on the men to see what was taking so long! _

Zecilys threw herself to the nearest the corner to avoid being sighted. Her breathes were hard and ragged and the wyvern rider felt her heart violently pound against her ribcage. She gradually slowed her breathing when she heard the footsteps starting to come closer to her hiding spot. Her feet seemed have mind of their own, for they began walking backwards while eyeing the corner that shielded her. The only thing that was going through her mind right now was prayers and whole collection of them. Today was not the day to get caught by Grado's forces…again. Finding herself next to another corner she turned around to face an empty hallway, much to her relief. As she approached the deserted hallway a sudden cry rang into her ears, jolting her into a sprint.

"There she is! Don't let her escape!"

"Alert the rest of the fort! Inform Lord Tirado immediately!"

"Hell's fires!" cursed Zecilys as she ran, hearing the guard's footsteps not too far behind. She ran with all her life's worth, racing like the Reaper himself was at her heels. For she knew if she was caught, there'd be hell to pay. And she wasn't planning on seeing that brown-haired hero any time soon.

_Let's hope the next turn I make will offer me a means of escape. _

"Don't let her out of you sight! Faster, men!"

_Thanks for telling me that, fools. You guys go fast, and I'll just go faster. _

The chase was on.

* * *

Heh, well, here ends this chapter. There's never a dull moment with Valter around, as you can see. The emotion he was feeling was most certainly not love (that would be _way _too fast for him to feel anyway), but it's something else. I'll let you guys figure that one out. Tell me it in your review, if you want. 

So, how will Zecilys get herself out of this one? Only I know and I'm not telling. As for the Ephraim-and-his-I'm-going-to-capture-Renvall scene…some of the quotes are not mine, they're from the game. Just want to make that clear in case some loon thinks he/she can sue or report me for just borrowing a dialogue from TSS. Speaking of TSS quotes, does anyone know how to find them all? Not just conversation ones, but like the ones that go on in the game. My method of writing them down gets the job done but it is not so convenient or efficient, it's a royal pain in the arse. So before I go digressing on and on with irrelevant rants, review and keep your eye out for the next chapter! Tschüs everyone!


	7. Seven: Cursed Lance & Unexpected Meeting

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated ValterxOCxEphraim

**Seven: The Cursed Lance and An Unexpected Meeting**

Summer is here and you know what that means, kiddies? Freedom! Absolute, pure, sheer freedom. From school, of course. Now since I performed superbly on my exams and achieved my goal for the second semester (just incase you're wondering what I got I received all As) I can hopefully update quicker than usual, providing the dreaded writer's block doesn't stand in my way.

**Caellach Tiger Eye: **Thanks again. I made up the name Slivegio because to be perfectly honest, I highly doubt even the creators of TSS had a name for Valter's mount. Thanks for the info on GameFAQS; it will help me out a lot. Enjoy this next chapter, you'll get into more of Zecilys and her family. P.S. Glen's one my favorites generals as well but Selena is another personal favorite of mine (like Valter and Caellach, as you already know).

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Ich besitze**** TSS nicht. Translation: I don't own TSS.**

* * *

"_Hell's fires!" cursed Zecilys as she ran, hearing the guard's footsteps not too far behind. She ran with all her life's worth, racing like the Reaper himself was at her heels. For she knew if she was caught, there'd be hell to pay. And she wasn't planning on seeing that brown-haired hero any time soon. _

Let's hope the next turn I make will offer me a means of escape.

"_Don't let her out of you sight! Faster, men!"_

Thanks for telling me that, fools. You guys go fast, and I'll just go faster.

_The chase was on. _

* * *

"Those who plot the destruction of others often fall themselves."**-Phaedrus**

* * *

Zecilys never ran more than ever in her entire life. Of course, there was her freedom a stake and a whole myriad of Grado men hunting her down relentlessly through out the keep. With them raising the alarm of an escaped prisoner, Fate didn't seem to be smiling too kindly on the turquoise-haired wyvern rider. 

"We can't let her escape! Get men to block all possible escape routes and exits!"

_Hell's fires! They're really serious about recapturing me. If only they were just a little slower…._

She pushed herself harder, breaking past the maximum limit of her stamina. All her wyvern training had trained her body to be adequate and sufficient in endurance, agility, and speed. Those three were needed in combat or in any possible life-threatening or dire situations that one may come across in his or her lifetime. Like this one, for example.

_Thank the gods for Xias's strict, tyrannical exercising code! All those laps, sprints, and drills are in the process of possibly saving my hide. _

She swerved to one direction, taking sharp turns whenever needed in high hopes of losing her pursuers. The rapid, metallic clanks from the soldiers' running feet grew fainter and their desperate, panicked shouts faded from Zecilys's hearing. She ran a few more meters before slowing down and stopping completely. Her hearth thumped violently inside her chest and she inhaled excessive amounts of air to gather up all the oxygen she had been so previously denied during her little race of life. Now, the next thing she craved for was water. …Which she wasn't going to be able to obtain any time soon.

Taking a good look around her, the wyvern rider studied the hallway surrounding her and warily treaded pass the closed doors with delicate care. She wasn't going to take any chances in case there were still some residents unaware of her escape and were residing in their chambers behind any of these doors. The quicker she passes through this void, eerily noiseless hallway, the closer she will be towards freedom.

_But in order for that to happen I have to find an exit of some sort leading out of enemy sight and range and near enough to the stables to find Eroniz and get out of this wretched place!_

"Check this corridor right here! She could be anywhere!"

Zecilys eyes widen at voices of soldiers nearby. Mentally cursing, she slid behind a darkened corner of the hallway, behind a statue and held her breath. Straining her ears, she listened attentively to the soldiers' set of plans.

"You two, search the rooms, she could be hiding out in any one of them! And I want your three to patrol those two sections over there, where the others lost sight of her. She could be still lurking about in that general area. As for the remaining lot, all of you will be following me as we continue to search for the escapee. Move out, men!"

Zecilys waited for them to pass and the remaining men disappear into the rooms and close the door behind them before making her move. She bolted out her corner and lightly sprinted through the hallway as quickly and silently as she could, seeing to the fact she had a fair amount of armor on and armor tends to slow ground movement down and make certain noises depending on the movements. In which running would surely make the armor squeak a number times more than necessary. Zecilys wished she had oiled and clean her armor beforehand, before or in between getting captured by Grado forces. Much to her amazement, no soldiers came out of the rooms to inspect the blatantly obvious noisy sound bouncing back and forth against the stone walls. Then again, maybe it was just vociferous to her.

Her brief sprint was cut short when she heard more voices up ahead in her direction and ducked behind a curtain just as two soldiers clad in rusty brown armor and carrying lances appeared from where she once was standing. Flattening herself up against the open window, Zecilys held her breath and waited for the men to pass. As the men approached closer towards her hiding spot, their voices become increasingly coherent. They talked in a regular but an obnoxious tone of voice.

"Checked the armory, the prisoner wasn't there. Wonder if the boss will let us have her for a bit if we find her first." His companion chuckled dryly.

"I'll find her before you do, Jin." The man called Jin joined in his partner's laughter and playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"Keep on dreaming, Bart. The prisoner is mine once we find her. Let's check these sets of rooms out, I bet the others haven't gotten to them yet."

As the two soldiers walked away from her current location and entered into the rooms along the left, Zecilys withdrew from the current and went in the direction those men had taken. Remembering their crude words she shook her head, part amused, part disgusted. Was their body or physical needs all that the Grado soldiers think about?

_Hopefully they have other interesting topics on their mind. Though given to my past experiences with some, however, does leave me wondering. _

The turquoise-haired wyvern rider furtively crept through the darken hallway, hoping to get through it unseen. As she neared the end of the hallway and it broke out into the open, more ringing voices and mad dashes awaited at the end. Groaning, Zecilys looked wildly around her, praying to find an empty room where no one would think about looking for her in there.

"_Checked the armory, the prisoner wasn't there…."_

"That's it! The armory! It's already been searched once and I can restock while hiding in there! This is perfect!"

Inspecting her surroundings, Zecilys noticed off to a small, seclude region from the hallway was a door slightly opened, its hinges ajar off to one side. Her eyes lit up in relief when she gently pushed the door forward and the array of weaponry gradually came into her view. Wasn't her luck just simply amazing or what?

Decorating every side of the room were weapons of every material, every type. One side of the room was completely dedicated to the art of magic. Spell books and staves galore littered the area, joined by other miscellaneous items with special properties. The other three walls supported lances, javelins, and spears; swords, blades, killing edges, runeswords, and shamshirs; long bows, short bows, regular bows; axes, battle axes, hand axes, tomahawks. There were even some _brave _weapons! Just about every weapon or item possible was stored in this spectacular room and Zecilys was currently, at the moment, in pure bliss.

"How they managed to obtain all these glorious weapons is beyond me but it seems that I hit the bull's eye," she muttered joyfully to herself and began the restocking.

Much to her surprise, she found her pack that was taken from her-after when they tossed her into the dungeons-right by the elixirs and vulneraries. Smirking at her success, she shoved in two elixirs (she couldn't pass up the opportunity to lay her hands on these; they were extremely hard to come by in shops. Also, they were painfully expensive) into her pack before helping herself to the weapon department.

With adoring eyes she gazed approvingly at the gleaming end points of the lances to the spears, iron to silver, slim to heavy, killing to brave. Snatching up a fine-looking and sturdy steel lance, she tied it loosely but securely to her pack. Eying greedily at the killing lance, Zecilys was torn to either get a javelin like the one she had prior to the second capture or try out a killing lance. In the end, she decided to take both to be on the safe side.

"Besides, the boys and I can share them, providing I will be able to find them in time," she said quietly to herself.

As she reached to remove a killing lance and a javelin from their resting places, a brief dark glare caught the corner of her eye. Turning her head slightly to locate the caliginous, lackluster glow, Zecilys cast her golden orbs onto one truly remarkable lance she has never seen before in her life.

The elongate, wielding section of the lance was a smooth, polished metallic black and the lance tip was of pure silver with opal designs decorating the point's sides. All along the black pole of the lance were white markings addressed in ancient, long-forgotten words but they were engraved on the metal quite artistically and beautifully. Tied by a thin piece of string was a crinkled, quarter sheet of paper. Zecilys flipped the paper over and discovered writing messily scrawled in ink. With curiosity gnawing, she read the note.

_Ye who disturbs the resting place of this accursed lance shall be warned of the doom that will befall ye's head. If ye's wields this lance in combat then ye will be possessed by the demonic spirit that is locked within. _

_Many of capricious soldiers have tried to master this damned lance and either lost their lives or their minds and die soon after. Only one man managed to survive the complete possession of the wicked spirit yet tragically ceases to be the man he previously was. His soul has been twisted by the creature. Nothing more is known about him._

_Ye has been forewarned._

_Do not touch this lance of evil. _

There another set of writing at the bottom, only it was in red, not black, and the words were by far clearer than the first writer's.

**It is with my deepest regret to any one whom so stumbles upon this cursed lance to leave where this weapon is and let it collect dust. **

**The story about the only man who survived against the demon's possession is true. He happened to be a very close friend of mine and was a true warrior on the battlefield. Now he is something else altogether and it pains me to write how terribly he has changed from his encounter with the spirit. If only I had never found this treacherous lance and innocently kept it with the belongings for all to touch and see I could have prevented so many lives being lost and saved a dear companion of mine. **

**Remember this and if you have heard of the Moonstone, then you know exactly of who I speak of. **

**-Regrettably yours, **

**General Duessel, the Obsidian **

_General Duessel, the Obsidian? He has a similar title to General Mooncalf…. What, did he mention the Moonstone? _The _Moonstone? The same Valter who has been popping up into my life for the past two days? _

"Impossible," Zecilys breathed, rereading both sets of warnings again to double-check her assumption. When it was crystal clear the words 'the Moonstone' were there, she let the paper slip through her fingers and turned her back slowly on the weapon. Just imagining the thought that she was so close in wrapping her fingers around the lance to test it out and could have been taken over by a _demon _that was trapped inside it was purely appalling. Yet what was even more appalling, Zecilys noted while gathering up a javelin and a killing lance, was the notion that she was acquainted with the sole man able to break free from the spirit's hold and in the end result had his soul tarnished into someone he wasn't. Imagining Valter has an entirely different man than what she knew him to be was shockingly intriguing, definitely worth a thought or two. She wondered what kind of man he once was. Maybe a whole lot more decent than he was now? Less lustful? Less sadistic? Less insane? …Less complicating?

"I wonder if there's a way to reverse the damage—"

Her sentence was cut off suddenly by the vociferous noise of the armory's door slamming open. Zecilys whirled around to face a fairly young and striking blonde woman in her mid-twenties staring quizzically at her.

"Who are you and what on earth are you doing here? There are preparations being made for Renvall to empty out most of its residents. Surely you got the message."

_Hell's fires! Am I found out so quickly? Hurry, hurry, think of an answer! _

"Uh, yes, but I was sent here to gather up a few more supplies for the wyvern unit," Zecilys lied, making her voice sound smooth and even. The woman nodded though still remained partially unconvinced.

"Who sent you?"

Zecilys blurted out the first name of a Grado general that came in mind. "General Moonc—stone." _Whoops, almost gave away my little nickname for him. That wouldn't bode so well for me, now would it?_

At Zecilys's answer the blonde woman's face soften a little and a semi-sympathetic look emerged on her unblemished features. "Oh. I see. Well, I better not keep you from performing your duty, I don't want to be the cause of your late arrival when your finish this task. I heard how impatient Valter can get."

Zecilys allowed herself to grin from the woman's words. "Here, here! Despite that, he is quite tolerable. ...Most of the time." _Whoa, whoa! Where did _that _come from?! Did I just shed some positive light on General Mooncalf?_

Her new-found "ally" strode away from the doorway and approached her in the friendly, curious manner at this new set of information. "Really?" she inquired, "I always thought anyone under his command were either miserable or bloodthirsty as he."

_You forgot extremely beastly, sadistic, insanely lustful, and contains a gigantic, confusing, complicated, and complex personality!_

Ignoring her spewing thoughts, Zecilys continued the chat with this interesting woman. "He does have his faults but underneath that dark guise he uses is something…else," she finished rather lamely. _Lovely, now I'm defending him. Things just can't get any stranger. _The woman arched an eyebrow.

"Something else? What do you mean by that?"

Zecilys shrugged her shoulders to feign ignorance of that subject. The turquoise-haired rider concluded she was either so caught up in the act of being a diligent, loyal soldier of Valter or the note about the cursed lance and Valter's connection to it was slowly affecting her view on Grado's Moonstone. Or maybe she is starting lose her sanity. Yes, that could be the reason as well.

"All I am saying is that there is more to General Valter than what he displays on the outside. There's something in the inside him that reveals the 'real' him, per say."

Regalement washed over the lady's face and it tugged the corners of her mouth. Seeing this, Zecilys sighed and attached the killing lance and javelin to her pack. Opening her mouth to retort to the woman's disbelief, she was interrupted by the female soldier when she asked Zecilys for her name. Knowing full well of the circumstances and the danger of offering her real name, Zecilys used the false name she conjured up long ago for situations like this.

"Alcyone."

A brief pang clutched her heart and faded rapidly as it came. She didn't understand why she decided to use that name as an alias, it just seemed so right at the time. Maybe the reason was she wanted to still have a thin, invisible connection with her former life, her childhood. No matter how much she suppressed all those heart-wrenching memories of her old life she desired to remember the names of the people she once knew and existed in that timeframe of her life. She especially wanted to keep and cherish a piece belonging to her dearly beloved older sister yet her wish was unfulfilled. Her name-save all those memories of them together-was all she could ever possible have as a memento, a keepsake of Alcyone Eithlinn Melkbane. _I'm still missing you, big sis. Like always. _

"What's yours?" she quickly asked, trying to mask the sudden silence that grew among them.

The older female hesitated, her body language debating whether or not disclose such information, especially to a solider under Valter's control. The lady knew how much spite the Moonstone secretly has harbored for her and _that _was no secret. Deciding to toss all caution into the wind and flirt with disaster, the blonde mage knight replied to "Alcyone's" question.

"I am Selena, the Fluorspar, one of Grado's Imperial Six as it is recently called now."

"Another general, eh?" A curt smirk barely graced Zecilys/Alcyone's lips before disappearing. Selena nodded; a grin of her own beginning to form. The Fluorspar was already taking a liking into this gal and enjoyed her company. It was inquisitive indeed how she could find such company in a soldier of Valter's. Oh, how Mother Irony was probably laughing at her now.

"You better get going and not keep your general waiting. I'd hate to be the reason of any consequences you might have to face when you return to your officer."

Zecilys forced a fallacious laughter from her lips. "Hah, don't worry about that. Just between you and me, you can kind of say I'm in Valter's good graces." _Which, in a bizarre and twisted way, I am. _

Winking at the flabbergasted mage knight, Zecilys waltzed out the armory before realizing the danger she still was in. When it dawned over, she swore furiously with fervor prior in coming to a decision on the current dilemma.

"I'll just have to keep my head down and try to lurk in the shadows. If a lone guard finds me, I will knock him out before he has chance to alert any soldier near by, take his helmet, and that will be enough for the time being to disguise myself." she whispered so softly only she could hear her own voice.

Needless to say, in the end, she and an inexperienced soldier collided with each other and Zecilys came out as the victor, not that is was a surprise. The youth she so easily knocked out was a bit on the timid side and was scrawny as twig. No wonder he was placed on guard duty! To top it off, he was an abomination with a lance, she couldn't count how many times he either dropped or fumbled the lance or displayed such poor posture. It was evident to see how frighten he was. Such a disgrace…. Zecilys wasn't sure whether to snort in disgust or chuckle amusingly at this, though his helmet came quite handy when avoiding the other Grado forces within the castle. All it would take was a few more turns, find the stables and she and Eroniz were out of here.

…Providing if she doesn't get lost first in this hebetudinous, aggravating maze of a keep. Why did Grado have to make their keeps to be bloody confusing?

_Or it can just be my terrible sense of direction. Too bad they don't keep a map lying around here…._

"You! Soldier! What are you doing?!" barked a voice behind. Zecilys whirled around to face the owner. It was the same captain from before, the one issuing out orders to his men to split up in hopes of finding her sooner.

"Yes, sir?" Zecilys replied deeply, doing her best 'masculine' voice possible.

"Have you seen any signs of the prisoner?" the captain asked. She shook her head.

"No, sir. Haven't seen nor heard the prisoner at all. Sorry, sir."

The captain cursed loudly and mentioned something about Tirado have their hinds for rugs. "Search every nook and cranny! Do not stop till she is found!" he bellowed out at her before departing from the hallway.

"Yes, sir!" she called out to him but he didn't acknowledge it. Shrugging, Zecilys ran off to the direction she was heading at and hoped she was going the right path that will lead her straight towards freedom.

* * *

Gold eyes scanned the horizon intently as wisps of long, navy blue strands swayed gently in the owner's face. The young man's eyebrows furrowed deeply, increasing the depth of the tense lines creased on his brow. Concentrating on his target, the youth did not release the flow of dark magic until the timing was ripe. 

The open, careless, and death-marked horseman galloping through the scattered out trees, oblivious to the danger his life was in was more than enough to convince the druid to issue the attack.

"Foolish dolt. So eager to die." he muttered and unleashed his thundering wave of dark magic.

He watched emotionlessly as his Flux assault flawlessly overpowered the startled cavalryman and crashed into the horse and its knight. The roan stallion let loose an agonizing wail before collapsing to the ground while the amateur knight's excruciating screams echoed through out the countryside, stirring nothing out of the stoic druid.

"Assignment complete. Frelia won't be getting any messengers any time soon."

He was about to turn back and go down the path where he kept his horse tied up when air in the atmosphere shifted and a swirling vortex of magic appeared in front of him. Keeping his Flux book at bay in case it was the enemy but he doubt it was so. It has to be his teacher with another task for him to finish.

"I see even when the danger passes you are still on your toes, Irthos. I expect nothing less of you."

The magic vortex vanished and in its place stood Riev, the Blood Beryl. Irthos bowed his head out of the usual respect, knowing how much his teacher loved it when he did it. Every time he pleased his teacher he would eventually get rewarded, whether it was learning another spell or something else of his interest. Irthos, the apprentice of the Blood Beryl, was ready to serve at any given time. He was at Riev's beck and call.

"The Frelia messenger is dead. Frelia won't be getting that special information as planned." Riev smirked at this bit of news.

"Finished him off so quickly? My, my, what careless idiots the Frelians are becoming. They are worse than I imagined." He sighed yet cracked a grin at Irthos. "Then again, the Frelian fools are no match for you, my skillful apprentice."

A hint of a simper was evident on the druid's face. "That's because I was taught by the best," he answered dutifully, watching the satisfied expression being enrolled on his master's features.

"Quite right you are, Irthos. I'm here to tell you of your next assignment. You must travel to Rausten and visit an old place of yours." Irthos frowned at Riev's words, troubled greatly by where this was going.

"By that you mean I must return to my former…house?"

"Exactly, Irthos. Everyone has to return home sooner or later, even if it's just for short time. Don't worry, it won't be long, I just need you to obtain something in there for me." The druid arched a caliginous eyebrow at the bishop, conspicuous to where this was leading.

"And pray you, do tell, what am I suppose to be retrieving?"

Basking in his apprentice's discomfort, Riev didn't reveal anything until he and Irthos were only inches apart. His moist, beady eyes watched carefully at Irthos's calculating gold ones as if they were trying read the druid's mind. Believing he held the suspense up long enough the Blood Beryl explained Irthos's next assignment.

"You will be traveling back to your old home to recover your family's sacred relics," he stated officially. Irthos continued to frown.

"Teacher, I am afraid those blessed artifacts are long gone now, since the day my family ceased to exist." Riev shook his head, preparing to share the recent information he just discovered.

"The prince-with the help of the Dark Stone, of course-has received many peculiar magical vibes somewhere around the remote region of Rausten and after investigating it further, we have pinpointed it to your family's house. The relics your family hid long ago have awoken from their slumber and are emitting this mystical aura to attract attention unto themselves. However, as you know, only you are capable of touching them so that is why I'm giving you this mission. You're the sole person who can. Does that answer any of your questions?"

Irthos nodded and the frown sank instantly from view.

"Excellent. Go get your horse; I'm going to warp you and it to Rausten. It will go a lot quicker this way."

"Understood."

Irthos walked away from Riev and back towards his mare, his thoughts swirling chaotically in his head. First of all, no matter how much he likes performing tasks for this teacher, he was going to hate this one. Riev knew how much he resented returning back home with all the memories that lied there and he was forcing him to confront them head on. It was like he was testing him, to see if he could handle going back to a place where he assisted in its absolute destruction and downfall.

_Then I will just have to show Master Riev that I can cope being in my former house, relics or no relics. I have no regrets. _

He would be stepping on the ruins of the Melkbane House, passing by the graves of the Melkbane family and its relatives. He will be going back to the very place he himself helped to grind to dust, effacing it clean off the face of Rausten history. He will be revisiting all those ancient, buried memorials long ago, reminiscing on all the faces he either indirectly silenced or had done the heinous deed himself with his own two hands. Like what he did with Mother, Father, Xais, Alcyone...and Zecilys.

Irthos closed his eyes, distant sorrow etched on his features. If there was one person he deeply repented in killing on that ominous, gory night was Zecilys, the older sister who watched over him, protected him, and cared for him like no other sister. When he was young, he looked up to her and always asked for her guidance for Pete's sake! Together, they were close, closer than he was with Alcyone or Zecilys with Alcyone. Perhaps it was because they once had shared the same dream…to serve and defend the Melkbane House with all costs and be the best in their trade. She craved to be one of the best wyvern generals in the house while he wanted to be one of top druids. It's ironic how it all ended. In the end result he was the one who snuffed his idol, his protector. His own flesh and blood. The best older sister any younger brother could ever have. And he slaughtered her with his own hands, so caught up in his lust for power he extinguished the light in her that he was attracted to, the light that was the beacon that once banished all his childish fears away and picked him up when he fell. Now he repaid her back by making her fall, permanently.

"Zecilys," he whispered deploringly, "I never thought your death would affect me so…yet it has…. I don't think any amount of apologies can make you forgive me and the crimes I committed against our family."

As he approached his horse, a single, lone tear slipped past his defenses and slithered down his cheek. Touching it tenderly with his hand, Irthos allowed the wetness of the teardrop to absorb his agony, the bottled torment he chained inside him for three years. Yet that was all he had for Zecilys. Just one, sole tear. He couldn't cry anymore, it had been sucked out of him ever since he agreed to become Riev's apprentice. That's the way it will be forever more.

He untied the reins from the tree branch and tugged his horse along with extreme docile and care. The mare obediently trodden behind him, hardly stopping to nibble on a blade of grass within reach. He had trained her well. When Riev was again in sight, the sickening knot lurking in Irthos's gut grew, as well as the hole in his heart.

Today he, Irthos, will be coming home and visit the ghosts that live there. He hoped he would be able to find the relics before the image of Zecilys's fallen figure engulfs him completely.

* * *

Well, there you go. I wanted to get another chapter up on this story quickly so it had to be shorter than usual yet I was determined to have it reach 10 pages, which it did. I was having trouble on how Zecilys would escape Renvall and who would she meet along the way. After solving that problem and overriding that tiny writer's block, I also wanted to introduce the other surviving member of the Melkbane House, Irthos. From him you can gather he and Zecilys are siblings and can draw a couple other conclusions but I won't go into it. You also learned a little bit of another member of the family, Alcyone, the older sister of both Zecilys and Irthos. Both Irthos and Alcyone's introduction had a purpose; this was most certainly not a filler chapter. 

On a side note, Irthos's name means 'secret' in dragon language from a book about dragons that I was previously reading. As for Alcyone Eithlinn Melkbane…. If someone of you haven't brushed up on your Greek and Roman mythology, Alcyone was the daughter of the king of the winds whose husband had died at sea and his corpse was later washed to shore. In Irish mythology, Eithlinn was in love with a man who her parents would have-if they found out about the relationship-killed, especially her father. Later, she has a boy who she names Lugh and he ends up killing Eithlinn's father and his grandfather in war, just has it was prophesized. (If you would like to read more about these myths and legends look up _Favorite Greek Myths_ retold by Mary Pope Osbourne-the story about Alcyone is called "Lost At Sea". For the Irish mythology, check up _The Names Upon the Harp_ by Marie Heany-the Eithlinn story is in "Moytura")I like using symbols in my stories, especially in names. Don't fret, I only do this when it fits so not every chapter is going to have some symbolism. Eh, just thought that should be explained. Anyway, thanks for reading and please review! Adieu!

P.S. Mooncalf means 'fool'. It was a type of insult used the Elizabethan times. Zecilys has been calling Valter 'General Fool'.


	8. Eight: The Element of Surprise

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Eight: The Element of Surprise**

Is it just me or does Tirado similarly resembles David Hasselhoff? I've been observing Tirado's face for quite some time and it looks so darn familiar…. Seriously, he reminds me of David Hasselhoff! …Eh, I just go to the review now.

**Knives91: **I deeply appreciate the review, I'm really glad you liked it. Enjoy this next one, there's even more possibilities. Actually, they're quite endless when you think about.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: If TSS belonged to me, you would be role-playing as the generals, not as the Renais twins.**

* * *

_He untied the reins from the tree branch and tugged his horse along with extreme docile and care. The mare obediently trodden behind him, hardly stopping to nibble on a blade of grass within reach. He had trained her well. When Riev was again in sight, the sickening knot lurking in Irthos's gut grew, as well as the hole in his heart. _

_Today he, Irthos, will be coming home and visit the ghosts that live there. He hoped he would be able to find the relics before the image of Zecilys's fallen figure engulfs him completely. _

* * *

"Which, if not victory, is yet revenge."**-John Milton**

_

* * *

_

Tirado, the main keeper in charge of the Renvall operation, was erstwhile finishing up packaging his belongs into a horse-driven inventory when a red-face and fatigued soldier came rushing up to him, babbling something about the prisoner, men searching everywhere, and a General Caellach.

"Cease talking and catch your breath, soldier. I can't very well receive your message clearly if all I hear is your incoherent ramblings." Tirado commanded sharply and the man gave a curt nod prior to catching his breath. When he was finish only then did he bid the messenger to speak.

"The prisoner who you had ordered for us to transfer to the Grado Castle resisted and managed to escape. There are men scouring for her in the keep, she couldn't have gotten far."

Tirado's expression darkens and he narrowed his eyes sternly at the timid young messenger. "What did you just say?" he demanded in low, grave voice. The messenger gulped and avoided eye contact to his superior, fearing what was yet to come.

"The prisoner escaped while men—" Tirado cut him off.

"I know what you said. What I don't know is _how _this mercenary overcame the guards in charged of the transportation and _why _she still seems elude my men? Do you, perhaps, have an answer to that?" The adjutant of the Moonstone eyed the man sharply, waiting for the frighten messenger to speak again.

"W-well, uh, I-I really don't-t know. They j-just told m-me what happened a-and sent me to report y-you on our c-current s-situation." the messenger stuttered, twisting with the fabric at the end of his tunic in a nervous fashion.

Tirado tsked disapprovingly at this displayed manner, silently praying in his head that they had better, more sufficient messengers than the one standing right in front of him. Frankly, it appeared he lacked the proper training for an average soldier.

_Maybe that's why he is been assigned as a petty messenger. _

"Listen to me, boy, and listen well," he began. The messenger nodded meekly, his eyes still wide and round with fresh fear. This young man certainly had no place on the battlefield, that's for sure. "You do realize a prisoner on the loose is the last problem we need to have on our plates? We are in the middle of an extremely substantial evacuation and having an enemy running amuck amongst our midst isn't going to make this any easier.

So, what I would like you to do is go back to whoever sent you to me and deliver them this message: if they don't find the prisoner's whereabouts soon then they will have to confront Lord Valter about their failure. Lord Valter does not gaze too kindly on incompetence-or failure, for the record-and neither will be pleased that you have lost his little interrogation prize." He stared hard at the messenger, who just started trembling at the mere mentioning of the Moonstone's name.

_Tch, and he doesn't even have a solid backbone. I've seen eleven-year-olds with more promise than _this.

"Now go, if you want to live a little longer." With a tiny "Yes, sir!" the messenger scampered off like the Demon King himself was hot on his heels and raced back into one of the doors in Renvall to deliver the foreboding message to his companions.

Tirado chuckled dryly at the youth's pitiful display, imagining the receivers of that warning's faces. When it came to women, Lord Valter could get quite possessive. He didn't encourage "sharing" or refused to 'lose' one to another man. He knew Valter still desired to have more fun with the prisoner and was not through with her yet. She was a beauty, make no mistake about that, but Tirado knew better than to be interested in one of his master's "toys". However, it appeared wasn't a total loss, she potentially did not seem to be his type. He preferred a traditional woman from his country that was calm, modest, motherly, and understanding. That was all. …Oh, and one with a _normal _hair color, he passionately disliked those obscenely vibrant hair colors. They attracted far too much attention for his liking. Master Valter did not mind it yet the wyvern knight liked anything that was unique or stood out from the crowd. Originality and beauty are his two favorite traits in women and Tirado could see why he was so eager to play with this prisoner. And to think on what his reaction would be if his master heard that the girl escaped….

Tirado shuddered momentarily prior to resuming back to what he was previously doing. For all their sakes that woman better be found…fast.

* * *

"I cannot believe my luck," Zecilys whispered to herself with amazement. 

Standing right in front of her were the stables, both horses and wyverns. Off to the left were the horses while to the right were the wyverns. She raced to the right and began browsing through all the wyvern stalls in search of Eroniz. It didn't take long for her to realize that she wasn't making any progress. At all.

Through all the different, varied tints and shades of grays, blues, reds, browns, blacks, yellows, beiges, tans, greens, and so on forth, there was not one olive wyvern with rusty red inner wing flaps. Apparently copper eyes seemed to be an enormously rare trait among wyverns as well.

_This is just marvelous, just marvelous. I manage to discover the exit of that Godforsaken keep and the stables for the wyverns, only now to be unable to find Eroniz! …I just really cannot believe my luck. _

A disagreeable growl interrupted her infuriated, panicked thoughts and directed her attention onto the owner of that particular sound. A looming, violet blue dragonish head peaked out of the door to its stall, fixating its piercing yellow pupils at her. She stared back with equal vigor, knowing exactly what the wyvern was doing. It was sizing her up, inspecting her and her potential "worthiness" to be in its presence. The wyvern approached her more closely until its nostrils were flaring rather rudely in her face. As the creature continued to study Zecilys was granted a better view of the mount. She noticed it was two-legged wyvern-which meant its rider was a wyvern knight-and the inner flaps of its wings were a dark shade of magenta.

"My, aren't you a gorgeous-looking wyvern?" she cooed softly to the two-legged, ultramarine blue wyvern that appeared to be quite flattered by her compliment. Rule number one when encountering a two-legged wyvern: always give them a compliment about their looks and never, ever, refer to them as a "thing". Two-legged wyverns are excessively proud creatures and prefer to be recognized by their gender or name. Judging by the wyvern's body and wingspan size, and the shape of its head, Zecilys would have to say this wyvern is a male.

Seizing a chance to make friends with another wyvern, the golden-eyed rider reached out to touch his face and surprisingly enough, he allowed her to do so. The wyvern closed his eyes serenely as her hands tenderly stroked his scales and all sides of his faces, evoking a low, pleased grunt from the gullet of his throat. Smiling to herself at her success, she resumed her actions.

"What's your name, you handsome boy?"

"His name is Slivegio and he is my mount."

Her fingers froze in place on the said wyvern's face. Perspiration trickled down from her helmet, down her chin and she swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Any minute now her heart would burst right out of her chest from the tension formed by the man behind her. Of all the places he could have found her, why did it have be this place, where she was so close to freedom?

_Hell's fires! This can't be possible! I didn't even hear his approach! _

"…That's a nice name," she croaked out in her fake voice, knowing it was futile to attempt in deceiving him. She heard the deep, dark chuckle she was beginning to loathe so much.

"It is indeed. What, may I ask, are you doing here…Zecilys? And don't play dumb, I know it's you under that helmet. That fake voice is atrocious-just to let you know; I can recognize your voice a mile away."

_This is just what I need. The dazzling appearance of General Mooncalf himself!_

"What is it to you?" she retorted, feeling her face burning up from the heat as she removed the helmet from her head and flung it aside, for it had served its purpose; besides the charade was over and was pointless to have such item hinder her senses. When it came to Valter, she discovered-the hard way-to always be on your toes and hold your ground for as long as you can.

Glancing back at Valter, a fluttery motion began to tingle in her gut. She couldn't understand what was wrong with her. Whenever he was around her she would abruptly feel amiable all over, her body would tense up, and her cheeks start flushing. She blamed it all on the humidity, all on the humidity. It had to be the weather change in the atmosphere that was causing her to feel so peculiar, stirring up this bizarre impression inside her.

Two arms encircled themselves around her waist and pulled her backwards, directing her body towards him. She stumbled but her fall was halted when she thudded against his chest. An ominous clatter rang through the air from the collision of their armor yet that was only sound to be heard, save for the unbelievably boisterous pounding rhythm of her heartbeat. Zecilys was certainly amazed Valter couldn't hear it by now or didn't make a comment on its volume.

"Why, my dear Zecilys, must you always behave that way? I was simply asking you a question concerning your presence here when you should be carted away to the Grado Castle." He blew gently against the shell of her ear, sending a magnitude chill shivering down her spine. By the saints, that was another action of his she loathed as well! How could someone like him be able to cause such a rise from her body?!

Zecilys bristled, despising and cursing at the position she was in. "And _I _was simply telling you to back off!"

She waited for him his amusement to disperse and be replaced with that beastly temper of his she had witnessed back in the dungeons during his interrogation with her. Instead, all she heard was a sigh, then a snicker. No signs of his upcoming wrath emerged into full view. Rather his choler didn't emerge at all. …That was most decidedly not what she had anticipated.

"We really need to work on your manners to your superiors a bit, Zecilys. Your tongue is going to get you into a load of trouble one of these days."

She groaned inwardly at his statement. This again?

"Really? You don't say? And this is coming from someone who thinks it is perfectly fine to kiss someone they barely even know and have some 'gaiety' with the people they interrogate, _General Mooncalf_!" she snapped back sarcastically.

The words left her lips a second too late before she realized what she had just slipped. Valter turned herself around to face him and suddenly, Zecilys began to wonder if this was when Valter would be infuriated by a remark of hers. His pale, slender yet strong fingers became wrapped around her chin, tilting her head up so she could look directly at him. Uncertain, she lift her amber eyes to meet his caliginous ones and immediately felt herself being drowned into its obsidian, enigmatic power locked beyond those penetrating orbs of his. It was as if he spellbound her with his dusky, tantalizing eyes that flared incalculably with sovereignty. His mere touch could awaken a dormant, secluded, yet ravenous passion within her womb, beguiling her body to his every whim.

What on earth is going on with her? She didn't like the feeling that was twirling around and around hotly inside her gut, causing her to experience such a foreign, unsettling impression that only surfaced when Valter was around. The strength of that certain emotion was tenfold when he performed his ungodly, sinful acts upon her.

"Mooncalf, eh?" She nodded stiffly, distrusting herself to speak at the moment. She didn't want to be saying anything else offending to the Moonstone that could jeopardize her life.

"I expect something like that from you." He gave her a wicked grin before continuing.

"Normally, if it was someone else, I would have killed them by now. But for you, I can make an exception. I have a much more minor yet _enthralling _punishment in mind." Zecilys's eyes widen, knowing exactly what he meant by 'punishment'. At her reaction, Valter smirked, loving how wonderful his day was turning out. He was given the chance to ravish Zecilys two days in a row. The Fates were being quite generous to him.

"Why can you just—" Her sentence was cut off short due the fact Valter had already aggressively pinned her to the back of the stables with his body, his hands hoisting her arms up high over her head, his chest up against her chest, and his face threatening nigh to hers. Why did he always have to stick her into these kinds of predicaments? They were so aggravating, not to mention downright embarrassing!

She glowered at him for getting her into this predicament and he replied with his trademark smirk. "Let the punishment begin." he whispered silkily in her ear and clamped his mouth on her parted, vulnerable lips.

Zecilys believed that she could prevent his oncoming kiss, keep herself rigid and cool as steel. She thought his simple, passionate kiss would mean nothing to her and it would just form bile in her throat. It was at the moment Valter's mouth claimed hers she realized she was blatantly fooling herself; the kiss did the exact opposite to her.

Instead of remaining firm and unyielding, she could feel her defenses crumble from just the fiery sensation of his deft touch, his nimble fingers changing the regular rhythm of her heartbeat into a stampede of startled mustangs. Nibbling at the bottom end of her lip, she conceived he was demanding for entrance but she refused to allow such a deed by him to be performed on her. Zecilys should have known that Valter was the type of man who doesn't take 'no' for an answer and would go through painstaking, immeasurable lengths to get what he craves. Her sensitive, erotic points covering her body was his trump card, his ace in the hole. After all, he seemed to understand her body better than she, giving him a purely unjust and confounding huge advantage over her. Knowing full well where one of the regions she was hapless in, the Moonstone wandered his hand to her unsuspecting thigh and attacked the tender section of its inner area with his experienced fingers. Gasping into his ear, her back arched in pleasure and his velvety chortle stunningly went unnoticed by Zecilys, who was caught off guard by Valter's beguiling action. It was too late for her to realize that her mouth was wide open and ripe for the picking. Seizing his chance, the Moonstone opened his mouth fully on hers, molding their bodies together while at. His tongue explored the moist caverns of her mouth, intertwining it around her own, forcing a pleasurable moan to escape her lips and erupt straight into the hallow, void aperture of his mouth. Though her eyes were shut, Zecilys could feel the smug, roguish grin gracing the lewd wyvern knight's lineament at her victimize cry.

It was impossible to plot a way out of this situation; with his tongue in her mouth, one hand working on her thigh, the other griping her wrists together to insure she wouldn't lash out in defense, the rest of his body pressed up against hers, and the torrid friction morphing insanely between their tightly embedded bodies that were so nicely fitted against each other. Plus, the throbbing ache in her the pit of her abdomen was growing stronger and its power appeared to have multiplied as Valter increased his beastly passion on her. How could she stop this if she was too caught up in the ardor herself?

_If this keeps up who knows how far General Moonstone will go? Please, let somebody come, let somebody come and interrupt us…._

Chanting the silent plea over and over in her mind, Zecilys waited for Valter's withdrawal and footsteps of an approach but both actions did not happen. She was still pinned to the end of the stable wall with Valter unleashing his dark desires upon her. Finally, one of her prayers was answered and the Moonstone broke the memorizing kiss and released his grip on her thigh. However, his other hand still grasped her wrists and now his free hand was busy pushing away any rebellious locks of her turquoise hair from her face.

"Wasn't that fun, Zecilys?" she heard him murmur huskily to her.

Shooting him the most terrifying, intimidating glare she could muster, she replied, "No. For you, it probably was, but definitely not for me."

Valter arched an eyebrow, his face showing unsubtle signs of disbelief. "Oh really?" he responded, "Because I highly doubt that."

This time, Zecilys cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" she retorted, keeping her temper in check. If she retaliates against him he'd probably deliver her another one of those damnable 'punishments'.

Much to her dismay, Valter closed the existing space between them again, and leaned his bending head close enough to her face that she could feel his hot breath fanning alluringly against her kiss-swollen lips. She once more faced the predatory ebony orbs and its savage strength engraved inside them. How could she stand here, stare aimlessly into them without losing half of her mind in the process?

"I think you enjoyed it because you produced of all those delightful, gratifying noises that sounded like someone was finding it just as thrilling as I did." He smirked down at her and she battled against the impulsion to stick out her tongue.

"Keep telling yourself that," she remarked darkly, but his words left a troubling impression on her. He couldn't be right, could he? It was just her body responding to his lustful acts, just his remarkable methods of emboldening the female body to his sexual desires. It wasn't like her heart was in it, for it most certainly wasn't! She would never bend to his will nor would her heart be in those inconceivable works. The body was always the first to go, the first to give in while the heart, mind, and soul were the last to follow. Valter may have domination over her traitorous body but there was no possible way he could ever snake his way into her heart. She erstwhile has given it to Ephraim, despite the fact she is in the dark of his true feelings towards her. They would either send her to cloud nine or substantially crush her beating heart.

Yet it wasn't that Ephraim's rejection to her affections worried her the most. No, she grudgingly concluded, what makes her wary the most was the very fact Valter could possess this much control out of her body and caused her to experience emotions she never felt before, even when she was by Ephraim.

_It's only a phase, just a deranged, raw emotion you need to empty out of your systems. In time it will fade—_

Her tangled thoughts ended abruptly for Valter entered her mouth anew. He pushed her up against the wooden wall harder, their mouths proceeding through an epic yet vicious battle of the tongues. Hers was trying to avoid his while his tongue was coaxing it seductively to join him. Despite all the aggression and deadly temper she had known him to display, it stunned her to see how tender yet rough he was with her all at the same time, combining two completely dissimilar elements of touch and feel.

_I bet he's a philanderer or a Casanova of some sorts!_

He deepened the kiss even further, evoking another moan on her behalf. Her aroused replies would only urge Valter to continue and increase the velocity of the kiss. Oh, it felt like he was devouring her, tasting every ounce of her with his lips. His free hand cradled the left side of her head; his gloved fingers affectionately stroking her scintillate turquoise hair occasionally. Why was she not immune to it all? Why did it have to feel so outrageously blissful when it was clear that this type of behavior shouldn't be occurring between them? She is being kissed and caressed by the enemy for Pete's sake!

To her greatest relief, Valter drew away from her, giving her time to breath again. He emitted one of her wrists and parted his other hand away from her head. Zecilys banished all cravings that were beginning to enter her mind. Those treacherous thoughts of hers were aiming on having her miss the warmth of his deft, seductive touch.

Prior to either one of them could speak; another voice from the distance silenced them.

"Hey, Valter! What are you doing?"

A murderous scowl replaced the lecherous expression on the said wyvern rider's features and Zecilys almost, hence the word _almost_, felt sorry for whoever they would be confronting. Apparently the Moonstone did not like to be interrupted while ravishing his chosen maiden of desire.

Yanking her along, Valter materialized into plain sight, right beside the closure of the wyvern stables. Narrowing his eyes at the horizon, he let loose a snarl when he recognized the identity of the approaching figure.

"Great," he muttered, "it's Caellach."

_Who's Caellach? _

"Who's Caellach?" she voiced out her thoughts. Sparing not a glance at her, Valter kept a fixed gaze on the man heading their direction.

"No one worth mentioning, aside from the fact he is general like myself."

"Ah. I see." She peered over his shoulder, mentally disliking the fact in how tall Valter was compared to her. Zecilys squinted as the man called Caellach roamed closer towards their location and his silhouette was becoming less and less nebulous, she started getting the indication that she had seen this Caellach fellow before.

_But where…?_

As he loamed within fifteen yards of their visage and she could oddly enough view his face quite clearly. A flash of recognition darted through her mind and she gasped reproachfully as Caellach's figure inched their way. Caellach was the exact same man she encountered in the dungeons prior kneeing him in the groin.

_Curses, he's going to recognize me in an instant and will howl out for my blood! Having General Mooncalf at my side doesn't brighten the situation either. _

"What is it?" Valter's crisp, monotonous voice sliced through her panicked thoughts. Zecilys mentally slapped herself for gasping out loud like that; how could she tell him what she done to one of his equals?

"Nothing," she lied. At this, the Moonstone actually turned around to face her. He was staring at her skeptically, as if he had difficulty in believing that elusive statement.

"For some reason, I doubt that. Are you familiar with Caellach in any way?" he answered dangerously, bitterness edged in the last sentence. Zecilys gulped inwardly and took a mental note to recollect that Valter seemed to be furiously possessive…of her.

"Not like I am with you," she remarked stoically, doing her best to keep cool. Valter chuckled briefly at her reply, satisfied with it at the moment. Hopefully, if Caellach was seeking retribution on her Valter might turn a blind eye to her painful act that she performed and assist her in getting her away from the auburn-haired general.

"Though it strikes me fairly interesting in how anxious you are of him. What happened between you two? A little squabble, perhaps?"

Scowling at his perception, Zecilys decided to answer and confess, just to get it over with. Maybe he would find the event particularly regaling. Maybe he wasn't at all friends with Caellach and despised his guts.

_Heh, I wish. I'm not _that _lucky. In fact, since when have I been lucky? It's like a curse in disguise. _

"Well, if you really wish to know, him and I got into a scuffle-if you say-and it ended in my favor." The wyvern general cocked an eyebrow at her vague response.

"How?" he inquired with slight interest. A partially sheepish, partially proud look washed over her sun-kissed features.

"Let's just I kicked the appendage between his legs, thus wounding his pride along with his manhood."

His reply to her little confession?

A feral grin signaling her he was thoroughly pleased with her comment. His somewhat 'comforting' grin was enough ease the nervous weight that was heavily crushing her chest and freeing the held breath she didn't know she had until it was freed from her lungs.

The clanking sound of Caellach's armor announced his arrival to Zecilys and Valter and both riders focused their attention back onto him. Noticing Valter was accompanied with a female, the Tiger Eye smirked at the intriguing sight before him.

"So there you are, Valter. Having some fun off duty, are we?" Valter looked at him coolly, approximately regarding him as someone insignificant of his time. Either that or he is still irritated at the hero for interrupting his ravishing period with Zecilys.

"What I do with my free time is strictly none of your business." he replied disdainfully.

_Oh yes, he definitely harbors some contempt for Caellach. It's a given, I'm safe…for now._

Caellach smiled bitterly at the wyvern knight, choosing to ignore the spite in his disarming statement. "No need to be impolite, Valter. If you're done with her then let me have her. Share some of the spoils why don't—" He stopped short and his eyes widen at the recent observance in the woman at Valter's side. It was completely obvious he had recognized Zecilys as the prisoner who jabbed his manhood with her leg. Judging by his face it appeared he hadn't forgot her 'spectacular' escape at his expense and was planning to wreak revenge on her.

"You!" he growled resentfully, pointing an accusing figure at her. Praying her emotionless mask was on, she tilted her head in acknowledgement prior to speaking.

"Yeah, it's me. Missed me much?" She flashed him a cocky grin, enjoying the enraged expression on his face.

"I'm not through with you, girl," he said venomously, glowering at her coldly. He aimed to frighten her yet it foiled miserably. There was no one in Magvel who could intimidate her-in the slightest-so flawlessly than Valter, unfortunately. Anyone else was just a petty amateur.

"Really?" she began, eyeing Caellach prudently, "Somehow I came under the indication that you would be still licking your wounds. Based by your behavior towards me, I say you're still smarting from our first meeting."

"You're just asking for it, aren't you, you cheeky little chit!"

Keeping his glower on her he advanced with ill-will aimed at her direction, an unnerving, wrathful glint in his smoky hazel eyes. Zecilys stood her ground fiercely, making eye contact with him to display her inner fearlessness. …Or the feeling nigh enough to that. An arm belonging to a certain wyvern general behind her encircled itself around her waist and drew her closer to him. Both Zecilys and Caellach were stunned at this gesture of protection. Zecilys showed it through the widening of her eyes. The Tiger Eye demonstrated it from his hesitating advancement, abruptly aware of the basilisk glare Valter was shooting him.

"Caellach, that threatening manner directed towards Zecilys is highly unacceptable. You will not harm her in any possible way, especially when I'm around. Is that, in any way, unclear?"

Caellach snorted at this order. "You expect me to follow your commands, Valter? Sorry, but you got the wrong man. We're equals here, remember?"

Unfazed by the Tiger Eye's refusal, Valter simply reached out from his back and with astonishing speed, brandish his lance in front of him and Zecilys, who was currently wishing she wasn't standing between the two men who so desperately wanted to ripe each other's throats out. Valter impassively level the butt of the lance near the heart of Caellach who erstwhile gripped the handle of his axe rather tensely. Zecilys then wondered what will happen next.

"Listen to me and listen carefully, Caellach. Zecilys is under my supervision and I will forbid any hazardous intentions you have schemed for her. His Majesty wills it. Are you actually planning on disobeying the Emperor's mandate?" The harsh, dead soberness in Valter's tone sent an unpleasant shiver down her neck but his chilling words managed to immobilize Caellach from any further movements or speech. It seemed that he processing the consequences if he proceeded with his intent of receiving vengeance. The Tiger Eye then backed off, retreating away from the butt of the lance.

"Fine, you win this round. Just don't think you can protect your precious whore forever." he sneered maliciously. Zecilys bristled at being referred as a 'whore'. Clouded by all her spewing, ireful thoughts of payback and obscenities, she failed to feel the tightening muscles in the arm around her waist or the stern clenching of his jaw. However, it didn't go unnoticed by Caellach and for the first time, he half-heartedly repented in calling Valter's woman a whore.

_I wasn't expecting to provoke that satanic freak. How in the Demon's King name was I suppose to know he had some sort of petty attachment to that insolent wench?! _

"Offend Zecilys like that again and I assure you I will blot your pitiful, meaningless existence from the face of this land. My lance can overcome your axe any day and you know it."

Without another word, he lowered the lance and placed it back in its holster and guided Zecilys back to the wyvern stables, directly towards Slivegio's stall. The nearby storming told them of Caellach's leave and they once again, were alone. However, instead of finishing what he started, Valter just ushered Zecilys into Slivegio's stall and motioned her stand aside while he saddled his mount.

"Don't even think about escaping. I'm not in the mood to chase after you." He warned her darkly and she nodded automatically. She blandly watched him to proceed to strap the wyvern saddle on Slivegio's back, deciding against the notion to mention that the thought of running away hasn't crossed her mind till he brought it up. After witnessing the heated despisal between the men and Valter's death threats to her defense, she believed it was best that she did not attempt to infuriate Valter further. It would be like poking a raging, vicious beast-right after it finished battling another creature-straight in the eye.

_Perhaps I should refrain calling him Mooncalf after this….yet he didn't kill me when I did, he just performed his red-blooded deeds upon me. _

It didn't take the Moonstone long to gear up Slivegio, they were ready to go in less than ten minutes. "What about my wyvern, Eroniz?" she asked when he had her mount his enormous, dark sapphire wyvern after Valter led Slivegio outside.

"You don't need to worry about him; he has already been transported to the castle. You'll be riding with me to the Grado Keep for reasons I prefer not to divulge."

With that, he hoisted himself up onto the saddle and planted himself behind her and repeated the same motion of enveloping his arms around her waist to steady her when Slivegio took flight. He grasped the reins firmly in both hands and using his tongue, clicked it against the roof of his mouth as a command to the wyvern to go. Roaring with delight, Slivegio darted forward and shot straight into the sky like a whizzing, enchanted arrow.

Relishing the familiar, soothing feel of the afternoon wind breezing across her face, ridding all reminisces of the past. It was when she up in the open sky, flying free and casually, is the moment she finally felt exuberant and at tranquility. Flying helped her reach equilibrium with her inner turmoil.

_I suppose this isn't so terrible, flying with Valter the Mooncalf behind me. I mean, he's quite tolerable when he's like this. _

"How long is the journey to Grado Keep?" she questioned curiosity, aiming to strike a conversation with Valter.

"Approximately a day or so, if there aren't any delays or interruptions." came his blunt reply. Apparently, he wasn't in the in the social mood as well.

"And if there are?" she inquired further.

"Two or three. Why so interested all of a sudden?" Zecilys sighed, however the corners of her mouth threaten to tug upwards. She now knew why he was so abrasively brisk in talking ever since they gotten in the air.

"No reason, to be candid." Valter grunted but chose not to answer back with a witty comeback. "…you enjoy the feeling, too. Am I correct?" Silence greeted her words nevertheless one of the arms around her waist squeezed her gently, signaling that her conclusion was indeed correct.

"Looks like we're more alike than we realize," she mused quietly enough for only Valter to hear.

"Yes," she heard his voice echo deeply in her ears, "more alike than you can possible imagine, Zecilys."

* * *

A keep of uncountable size and structure loomed ominously in the distance as a company of four hard-driven men lurked about in the dense, murky foliage nearby. 

"So this is Renvall, is it?" A dark emerald, wispy-haired youth nodded diligently while his companion, the blonde knight clad in scarlet was currently giving his prince wary glances. "All right, let's go."

Forde looked doubtfully at Ephraim, his mind screaming at him that the schism is absolute suicide and it will all end in tears. He has to ask Ephraim if he _really _did know what he was doing.

"Um…. Are you…sure you're quite sane. Prince Ephraim? We've an entire army after us and you want to charge into their stronghold?" Irked by his partner's impudence, Kyle took the opportunity to jab him in the unprotected part of the red knight's ribs with his armored elbow. Forde grimaced at the sparking pain prior to shooting a menacing scowl at Kyle.

"Forde! Watch your tongue! This is our prince you're addressing!" rebuked Kyle. Forde opened his mouth to retort but Ephraim intervene.

"Kyle, please, it's all right. We've heard nothing from home, so what harm could a little reckless besieging cause?" explained the Renais prince calmly. Forde still appeared unconvinced and Kyle seemed troubled by Ephraim's casual statement.

"Prince Ephraim…." Kyle began. The said prince waved his hand thus the young knight broke off, suspecting Ephraim was not finished with his explanation of the assault on Renvall.

"Don't worry. I haven't lost all sense of self-preservation." He gave half-hearted laugh prior to continuing. "Renvall holds an important place in Grado's national defense. If we get the upper hand and take control of it, then Grado will waste many valuable soldiers trying to take it back. I hope our attack proves useful to my father and Eirika. Zecilys will also be occupied at Renvall so we'll have the chance to rescue her."

None of the three men had the heart to tell their prince that his father, potentially his sister, Eirika, and Zecilys, could very well be dead.

In attempt to divert the uncomfortable silence that had washed over the three soldiers of Renais from Ephraim's attention, Forde went straight back to questioning his prince's tactics.

"I understand what you're saying but…can we do it with our current strength?" he challenged.

"Every soldier in this area is trying to find us. The enemy has us vastly outnumbered. Attacking the castle is a ridiculous idea. If the enemy thinks the same…then we may have our opening."

Forde nodded knowingly at the light aqua-haired lance wielder, finally comprehending where Ephraim was getting at. "You have a point. I'm sure Renvall won't expect us to attack with these numbers. Either way, we can't run forever. And we're running out of supplies. What've we got to lose?" He grinned bitterly at his companions, amused by the circumstances they face. With his hand he gesticulated to the secluded pathway leading to an abandoned passage to the keep. "Shall we get ready to go?"

"Yes. If we don't move quickly, we may never get another chance. If we do that, there is no telling in what they'll have in store for Zecilys." The Renais prince offered his menservants an assuring smile.

"Trust me. I don't pick fights I cannot win."

* * *

Zonta, the head mercenary charged with the Renvall's defense, was busy polishing his sword when a fellow mercenary rushed into the room with another soldier of fortune trailing right behind him. 

"Zonta! Ephraim and his men are here! They breached the keep and are attempting to overtake the stronghold!" shouted the first mercenary.

"What are our orders, sir?" asked the second hired man with equal fervor.

Swearing a horrendous oath that would make any priestess blush, Zonta slipped his sword back into its sheath and whirled to the two men. "An attack? By Ephraim's troops?" he demanded brusquely. The two men nodded vigorously. "To arms! Prince Ephraim's circled around and brought the fight to us. If we capture the prince here we can line our pockets with gold! Do you understand? We'll be rich!"

Greed shining clearly in their eyes, the two freelance warriors raced out of the room to alert the following other mercenaries and deliver his command. Zonta unsheathe his blade and twirled it around in a couple of deadly arches, easing the tension that was building inside his muscles. Soon, very soon, the prince will be under his thumb and he, Zonta, will be a rich man and he could at last resign his life as a soldier of fortune to live a life of luxury and wealth.

Admiring the gleam on the edge of his sword, Zonta smiled crookedly. _And so, it begins. This should prove to be most promising. _

"Come, Prince Ephraim. Show me what you're made of. I want you to fall to my sword. Make me filthy rich."

* * *

There were more men in the stronghold than Ephraim estimated. While he guessed there would be thirty to forty men, there were actually around fifty or so able-bodied warriors. Sure, a handful of them were green or fresh recruits but that was only a few. Like fifteen at the most. The rest of the mercenaries were experienced, weathered fighters who fought unwaveringly, for their desire for riches was as strong as their will to survive and see the next day-in one piece. 

"There's a lot more than we imagined, eh Prince Ephraim," Forde stated simply, unaware he was voicing his own prince's thoughts out loud. The cerulean-eyed man nodded stoically and twirled his lance to his side, delivering a crushing blow to an unfortunate lance-wielding mercenary in front him. Jumping aside to let the three horseback knights pass and deal with advancing troops, Ephraim double-checked there were no lingering soldiers planning to ambush them from behind. Satisfied that they were safe from the back, Ephraim rushed back into the heat of the battle to join his band.

"Forde, quit fooling around! We're in the middle of a major battle!" Kyle reprimanded his dirty blonde-haired partner, who shot him a nasty look before finishing off his opponent.

"Honestly, Kyle, can you lay off on my back for once in your lifetime? I can't concentrate fully with your consistent nagging echoing in my ears." snapped the slightly agitated knight as he hurled his javelin at the unsuspecting shaman hovering in the back of the miniature security squad. The javelin hit its target straight and true. From the impact, the shaman let out an agonized, wheezing yell before he slumped forward to the stone-cobbled floor. The javelin, prodding from his chest, halted the shaman's complete fall to the ground so the dark spell caster remained slouching over, his hooded head hanging downwards.

Grumbling in annoyance, Kyle brandish his iron sword and swiped it at two less capable warriors who had momentarily dropped their guards. Such a fatal, tactless act proved to be their undoing, for Kyle's blade came in contact with their fleshy throats, effectively slicing their vocal chords to shreds. The two men tumbled back, blood already churning out of their now useless mouths and ripped opening on their throats. Lips pursed in nonexistent gasps, the adventurers clutched their damaged necks heretofore death lured them into its dark, mysterious embrace.

"I wouldn't be wasting me time pestering you about your duty on the battlefield if you acted like a real knight!" retorted the uptight, hunter green clothed cavalier. Another enemy loomed in his vision and Kyle swung his sword to engage the enemy's blade. They exchanged a few bouts of swordplay till Kyle managed to wound him around the forearm and Orson arrived with his assistance and punctured the man in the abdomen with his bloodied silver lance.

"Thank you, Orson, for the help," he thanked the weary-faced paladin and Orson nodded silently in acceptance. He then urged his pure white stallion ahead of the line and confront their foes head on. Tormenting shrieks and incoherent moans of the dying and wounded soon followed the breathtaking yet mortal strokes of Orson's lance.

Shifting to his right side, Kyle noticed his prince was in need of an extra manpower for he was busy fending off three mercenaries who thought it would easier to defeat him if they all ganged up on him. Acting like the true, chivalric knight he trained himself to be, the curly-headed young man hasten to his lord's rescue, his tawny brown horse cantering towards the four fighting men. His steel lance protruded through his victim's chest, blood freely seeping through the cotton short and trailing downward. Pulling it out from the recently deceased man, Kyle looked up to realize Ephraim had dispatched off the other two men with ease. They lay in a messy, bloody heap, crimson liquid oozing around to form a morbid puddle.

Ephraim walked up to him, a gratified half-smile on his face. "Thanks for the aid, Kyle, I really needed that. Three was almost pushing it."

"It's is nothing, Prince Ephraim. That is what my knightly vows consist of, besides my servitude to you and to Renais." With that said Kyle and Ephraim parted and resumed in their operation to overtake the keep.

* * *

"Come on and get some, you louts!" shouted Forde enthusiastically, cutting down any misfortunate or unlucky soul foolish enough to stand the way of the pony-tailed knight and his horse or at the end of his lance or sword. After getting separated from the rest off the group (he knew he'll receive more of Kyle's bothersome rebukes once he eventually finds them again) Forde resolved to seize the liberty of ridding Renvall from its abundant fortune-seeking inhabitants located on the opposite side to where he and companions were previously at. 

A superfluous cavalry of four charged into full view, lances protruding impulsively in midair. The first lance almost stroke him but Forde managed to block it with his own before aiming a decisive hit through the horseman's gullet. Wordlessly, the man flopped out of his saddle and thudded dejectedly to the floor. Forde thrust his lance at the next oncoming knight who capriciously enough engaged him with a sword. He blocked the assault with the edge of his blade and reached out to slice the wrist of his lance arm. Forde pulled back just in time to avoid the misjudged attack and used the enemy knight's mistake to his advantage. The burgundy cavalier lunged forward and heard the screeching, scathing sound of his lance piercing through the feeble, tarnished armor, tearing the clothing and flesh, and drilling past solid bone. An anguished scream came afterward; however, it did not last long. The mercenary behind him shoved him and his horse aside, causing Forde to yank out his lance. The catatonic compulsion sent the wounded horseback mercenary toppling over and his frightened roan horse began retreating from this unnerving battle. Absentmindedly, the horse trampled on the spinal cord of the moaning soldier out of his misery, silencing the man's cries of pain once and for all.

With his left hand, Forde boldly tossed his javelin at the fourth knight in the back while maneuvering his lance with his right hand. Needless to say, his improvised plan succeeded, just not in the manner he hoped. His aim wasn't entirely accurate yet in a roundabout fashion, the javelin did meet its target. …Or should it be the target's leg?

Ignoring the mercenary's howls, Forde focused on the last standing knight who evaded the aggression of his lance rather efficiently. They stroke blows with one another and though the horseback mercenary lacked enough experience to best Forde, it was slowly turning into a stalemate due to fatigue on Forde's case.

"Hugo, go back to Zonta immediately and report to him of the situation! It's getting worse!" his opponent hollered gruffly to the gasping, pain stricken man behind him. The injured mercenary called Hugo slapped his horse without replying, the eagerness to flee for safety written all over his face. Once he was gone Forde's foe switched from defensive to offensive position. He tried swinging his lance to unseat Forde but miss, allowing a wide, open gap for Forde break through and end the tiring stalemate. He pushed the lance deep into the final knight's side, cracking a rib or two. He then vehemently projected his lance upward and it punctured the man's lungs, sending pools of blood erupting out of the man's mouth. Grimacing in disgust, Forde forcibly pulled his weapon out of the mercenary, who was precipitately rigid. Blood still sluggishly dribbled out of the corners of his mouth yet the young knight could see his eyes bulging eyes were murky and lackluster.

"Well, that's three down, one more to go," muttered Forde and he pursued the fleeing horsemen who galloped off to a person called 'Zonta'.

* * *

_**Remember your position in this, Orson. Do your job properly and you shall see your wife again. **_

Orson sighed wistfully, knowing how much torture those consistent words alone contained. Yes, he wanted to see his beloved wife again, more than anything else in the world but the burden of betrayal would always whisper wickedly in his ear until he finally committed that traitorous deed.

He knew what he had to do and he could not back down from it. There was absolutely no choice, for him anyway. And, if there was, he wouldn't take it. He _couldn't _take it. After all, he was doing this for _her. _All for his darling, lovely wife, Monica.

Griping the lance severely, Orson surveyed the battle damage and to his relief, saw neither Kyle nor Ephraim appearing from another hallway. The middle-aged paladin recalled that they split up but planned on meeting in some point yet Orson was unable to remember where. He did see where Forde rode off to, right to the other side of the keep. Since Forde was probably all alone and Ephraim and Kyle might have found each other, then there is a slim chance of those two are aware of Forde's current location. Concluding this, Orson mildly whipped the reigns against his stallion's side and the horse sped off, cantering hard towards the direction where the paladin had last seen the optimistic knight of Renais riding off to.

_Looks like my act of betrayal is coming closer than I would have thought. I am deeply sorry about this, Forde, but it is a role in which I must do. I somewhat explained that to Zecilys when she got caught up in all this mess._

_

* * *

_

"Feel the power of righteousness, you fiends!"

"Brawhahahahaha! Having fun yet, Rennac?"

"Sigh…this is definitely not what I was paid to do."

A lone, dark robbed figure standing soberly on the cantilevered terrain watched with regalement as the three-man team battled the freakish monsters in such a comical fervor it practically looked ludicrous.

"Face your judgment, creatures of darkness as I, L'Arachel, rids you with my glorious might!" shouted the female troubadour with curly, yellow chartreuse curls pinned at the top of her scalp. She waved her healing staff around her head like it was hazardous, deadly weapon to be reckoned with.

At the announcement of her name, the spying druid raised one navy-blue eyebrow. _L'Arachel? As in the princess of Rausten? _Observing the crisis the tiny group had landed themselves into rather willingly (though he noticed the brunette rogue wasn't at all thrilled about the meaningless fighting), the druid smirked at his recent good fortune. _Now that I know who their leader is I can work that to my advantage. If I can obtain any beneficial information about Rausten then undoubtedly Teacher Riev will be pleased._

Irthos gazed down at the team's slow progress and sighed wryly. It seemed Teacher was right, nothing has changed in Rausten. Rolling his eyes at the beefy axe-wielder's hearty laughs, he brought out his Flux book and began his descent down the hill, into the heart of the battlefield.

He instantly spotted the revenant prior to it saw him first and rapidly conjured his dark magic, hurling the caliginous, exploding matter at the rotting monster. The revenant stared mindlessly at it, unmistakably ignorant of the black, magical danger creeping up on it. The monstrosity was vanquished at the spot, leaving Irthos with plenty of more time to efface the other fiends from existence. Lighting a match and tossing on the corpse-so that the revenant would have no hopes of a second revival-Irthos turned his back on the gluttonous flames and made his way to the three Raustans.

"You appear like you need the use of some assistance," he called out to them. Their heads snapped up, suddenly realizing that he was here. Irthos inwardly snickered at their reaction; a druid with stealth was notion unheard of these days.

"Thank you, kind stranger, for your aid. Let the light of justice bless you!" cried out the woman called L'Arachel. Her axe-swinging friend replied with another round of "Brawhahahahahahaha!" and the disgruntled rogue only tilted his head in acknowledgement before whispering to him that he would regret his actions, saying how much his mistress was pain as well as a complete bother.

"Dozla isn't much better, either," he added before returning to his combat. Irthos didn't answer the man back, obvious that it was pointless to do so. Right now, fighting was all that mattered, at the moment and he needed to get into L'Arachel's good graces in order to receive any private, possibly confidential information from her concerning Rausten and its current predicament. When he was through with them he will just simply travel back to his former house, unlock the seal to his deceased family's relics, grab them and ride back to Grado. He silently prayed that his mare was behaving well where he left her, the monsters always made her uneasy and skittish. Hopefully, she would be strong enough to survive the journey for so long.

He whirled another sphere of dark magic at a bonewalker, satisfied as it produced a sickeningly crunch then a thundering explosion on the trudging skeleton.

_Sorry about destroying your secret army, Master Riev, but I have to do this. If all goes according to plan, I might have enough information to bring Rausten down to its feet. Won't that be a sufficing, glorious power to unleash on your long-lasting rivals in Rausten?_

* * *

A beautiful, enormous violet blue wyvern shot out the cloudy, colorless sky, skyrocketing down towards the swaying emerald meadows below. Nearby stood a formidable, solemn castle, supporting fading lucent flags that perched on top of the keep's roofs, its frayed, aged fabric flapping uncontrollably in the ferocious wind. 

The magnificent two-legged wyvern landed in the begotten plains with grace, allowing his two riders to slide off. A man with long, partially tamed, (though his manner was starkly the opposite) ebony hair was the first to get off. He then surprising lent a hand to a young woman whose turquoise hair lengthily exceeded the man's. Hesitating for only a brief moment, the female rider accepted and swung off the saddle with the man's help. Daring not to venture why he offered such a request, the turquoise-haired rider watched the pale-skinned wyvern knight gather up the reigns to his wyvern and began guiding the winged creature to the stables. She reluctantly trailed behind them, solely focusing her attentive gold eyes on the gigantic palace in front of her.

"Valter," she called out, "is that the Grado Keep you mentioned before?"

The said man turned his head slightly towards her, wordlessly nodding. She jogged up next to him, already starting to dislike the silence. They were quiet through the whole ride and no matter how much she felt wary or discombobulated around Valter his talks could be very settling at times.

"So that's the notorious Grado Keep," she stated out loud and Valter grunted in agreement.

"Home sweet home." the Moonstone answered back nostalgically and silence elapsed over them once more.

* * *

Whew! This one was full of nearly non-stop action and fighting. 'Course once you got past through the Valter-toying-with-Zecilys scene, there were pretty naught but battles till the closure, when it was back to Zecilys and Valter. 

Now I believe some people might object about Valter being so "protective" of Zecilys when Caellach insults her but Valter believes Zecilys is "his" per say and doesn't like anyone 'harming' what's his and to top it off, he hates Caellach. Period. So he is not out of character.

I also had my reasons for dragging Irthos into meeting L'Arachel and her comrades. In fact, as time progress he will soon find out that he's getting more than what he bargained for and it might affect his viewpoint and feelings in general.

While I'm at it, I used some the dialogue from the TSS scripts so I don't want to be hearing any complainants or suing charges or whatever the hell people might blame me for.

Well, that was twenty-one pages of action, fighting, fun, heat, and sexual tension galore so review and I'll be seeing you as soon as I can get the next chapter out (hopefully it will be out prior school starts). More combats await us and the next chapter might serve as prelude to the confusion some of the characters are feeling, like Zecilys and Valter. Irthos and L'Arachel will come later, I presume. For now, I just bid all you readers adieu.


	9. Nine: Bitter Betrayal

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

**Nine: Bitter Betrayal**

Sorry for taking so bloody long to update, writer's block collided into me so fiercely I absolutely had no idea how to begin the chapter. I overrode that hebetudinous writer's block…eventually.

A/N: As you can see, I changed the title. I did such an act because the title wasn't basically upholding the general gist of the story nor the summary. Yes, revenge/justice does play a key role in this story but it will be quite some time before it is shown in all its radiating glory. Plus, I kind of thought the former title was a tad bit corny and unfulfilling. Hope this title is far better (I received it from a quote). In addition to a new title, I decided to spruce up the previous chapters, this one, and the future ones a with a revenge/justice quote that have some connections to each the selected chapter.

**The Lex and Terry Listener: **Thanks for reviewing and the name-drop; it's been awhile since I played the game, much less than portion of it.

**Frodo007: **Thank you for the tip, I did not know that. I've seen different authors use the style I was using but your suggestion makes sense. I'll be sure to use in the chapters to come, starting with this one.

**Knives91: **-grins- Heh, thanks again. Enjoy this next chapter, its length makes up for the elongate wait.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Why must you ask? You're pouring salt on the wounds!**

**

* * *

**

"_Valter," she called out, "is that the Grado Keep you mentioned before?" _

_The said man turned his head slightly towards her, wordlessly nodding. She jogged up next to him, already starting to dislike the silence. They were quiet through the whole ride and no matter how much she felt wary or discombobulated around Valter his talks could be very settling at times. _

"_So that's the notorious Grado Keep," she stated out loud and Valter grunted in agreement. _

"_Home sweet home." the Moonstone answered back nostalgically and silence elapsed over them once more._

* * *

"To take revenge is often to sacrifice oneself."**-Anonymous**

* * *

"So look what I have here," jeered Zonta at the maroon armored cavalier, "a knight of Ephraim. I was expecting the prince himself but I suppose you'll have to do." 

Forde chuckled, a taunting demeanor inclining on his sweating, labored silhouette. "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but Ephraim is way out of your league. I think I'm more than enough for you."

Zonta's mouth twitch at Forde's cocky insult, his pride swelling tremendously inside. "Do you truly think you can take us with those numbers? Imbecile!" He crudely unsheathed his blade and positioned it in front of him. Forde ebbed his lance to meet Zonta's sword, waiting for the mercenary to strike first. Seeing this, Zonta lips curled up into a nasty sneer. "You'll learn the errors of your ways!"

"Huh, you almost sound like Kyle. You two would get along famously," Forde commented dryly. In response, Zonta flashed his sword at him and he blocked the attack with the side of his lance, signaling the beginning of a grand battle.

Zonta feigned to his left and then agilely arched his sword underneath the lance, at Forde's right. Forde urged his horse backward and the tip of the blade narrowly missed slicing his wrist. He inwardly sighed in relief; if the attack had succeed then that would have inflicted a major, heavy wound around his radial artery that causes severe bleeding and eventual death if not treated correctly and quickly. He made a stabbing motion towards Zonta's chest but the professional mercenary brought his sword back with admirable speed and disengaged the assault.

Forde swiftly kicked the sides of his horse with impassive fervor and charged forward at the swordsman, his lance aiming perilously at the enemy. Zonta jumped out of the cavalier's path but Forde just directed his horse at the retreating soldier of fortune with his free hand. The horse obeyed suavely to his rider's demand and trotted onward, straight at the cornered Zonta. Realizing too late the trap he had fallen into, Zonta cursed uncouthly and executed a hazardous slash at the horse that backed up momentarily in affright. However, this course of action gave Forde more space and leeway to maneuver his lance and strike home. Extending the lance, Forde targeted his foe's unprotected region and sank his lance's butt deeply into the left side of Zonta's chest, piercing his heart.

Blood instantly seeped through the gelatinous fabric of his shirt, rapidly trailing through out in every direction possible. The mercenary's eyes bulged, flabbergasted by the sudden act of his demise. The sword slipped carelessly through his fingers and clanged forebodingly to the floor, forgotten. More of the crimson, amiable liquid flowed out of the corners of Zonta's mouth, dribbling slowly down his cheeks. He slumped to his knees, dragging Forde's lance with him. Opening his lips to say his final words, Zonta gazed aimlessly at the blood-speckled stone floor beneath him and his bare weapon lying lonely a few feet away.

"L-Lord Tirado…. It can't be…. Were we merely pawns?" His eyes then rolled to the back of his head and an anguished gasp parted his mouth. His body then went rigid and stiff completely. The signs of death erstwhile appeared in his frozen, disbelieving eyes, overcastting the retreating light with its eternal, lifeless cloud of obscurity.

Forde wrinkled his nose and brashly yanked his steel lance out of Zonta's cadaver. "Well, I'm glad that's over. Better go find the others and see how they're progressing." He swerved his horse around and came face-to-face with none other than Orson himself. "O-Orson! I didn't hear you approach. Have you seen Prince Ephraim and Kyle?"

Orson shook his dead blandly at the startled knight. "Unfortunately, no. I lost them during the fight and they, in turn, were separated as well, I believe. You're the first I was able to find."

Forde laughed dubiously at this bit of news. "Looks like we're going to have to search for them together, eh, Orson? Time to get moving then."

His horse began heading towards the exit when abruptly Orson plowed his horse directly in front of them and shut the door behind him with his weaponless hand. He spun his silver lance and crossed it over Forde's steel one. A set of unrecognizable emotions flickered across the paladin's pallid features as he steadied his horse to efficiently block Forde's only route of escape. Engaging Orson's lance prudently, Forde judged and maintained his distance from Orson.

"Orson! What is going on?" he demanded rather stridently. The said paladin sighed and lowered his lance yet only by an inch or two.

"I'm filling out my orders, Forde. That's what I'm doing." he stated. Forde blinked turbidly at this.

"Orders? What orders? You haven't got any—" Actualization settled over him and the unspoken, terrible truth had dawned on him. "No! You couldn't have!"

"I did." Orson confessed gravely. Bewildered, Forde stared intently at him for a moment, as if he was seeing Orson for the first time. Snapping himself out of his stupor, he focused his attention of the subject of his fellow knight's betrayal.

"Why Orson? Why are you double crossing us? You're not a man motivated by greed or power, so why have you sided with Grado?!"

Keeping his face impassive as ever, Orson replied, "So I could be with her. My darling wife, Monica. She is all I ever wanted in this world and I can't bear to be parted from her. Grado promised if I handed Ephraim over to them that I would be returned to her and no one would bother us. We would get to live in absolute serenity, untainted by the horrors and damages of war. I'm doing this for Monica."

He then narrowed his silver lance at Forde, flawlessly emphasizing his killer technique at the blonde youth and batted his lance away like it was made of straw. Blood spattered across the extravagant walls and a horse's terrified neighing echoed through the confined regions of the death-marked room, drowning out a young man's heart-wrenching scream of excruciating agony and pain, both physical and mental.

His body was wounded, yes, yet so was his heart for betrayal is never a pleasant event, especially when it comes from one of your acquaintances.

"I'm sorry about this, Forde, but just like with Zecilys, you give me no choice."

_Zecilys? He got her too?! _

His next thoughts were silenced with the deadly accurate sweep of Orson's lance, embedding its tip abrasively through his armor and into his abdomen. White spots clouded his vision and his state of consciousness eluded him. His eyelids shortly felt heavy and weary and they began to drop. Scarlet droplets stained on unadulterated white armor were the final images his saw prior to his eyes closing shut on him.

_My prince, I'm sorry I couldn't serve you fully or capably enough…even at the very end. That is my only regret._

A never ending blanket of darkness consumed him and what happened after that, Forde couldn't apprehend.

* * *

Stodgy, caliginous smoke billow out into the Copenhagen blue sky, its onyx, withering coils twisting and twinning around the pallid, laggard clouds drifting overhead, blotting out the simple blue of the sky with its shaded colors of metallic grey and abysmal charcoal. Golden orange flames danced unruly about, its blazing, inferno fingers hungrily licking up the fleshy or bony remains of the carcasses strewn across the blackened and bloodied meadow. 

Four figures were assisting the fire's path and made sure it didn't get out of hand and dispersed once its task was complete. The lone female in the group, also the sole member on horseback, turned her attention onto the hooded stranger who had returned to their side after retrieving his own mare that was sheltered in the woods, far from the monsters' attack.

"You, druid," she began. The hooded head of the druid tilted in her direction, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes?" The young woman blew a wisp of her yellow chartreuse hair out her eyes before continuing.

"Thank you for aiding us in our righteous road of defeating these abominations from our lands! The forces of light give you their eternal gratitude!" proclaimed the enthusiastic troubadour.

_Good grief, are all the Raustens like this?_

Fighting back the urge to roll his eyes or sneer pejoratively at woman called L'Arachel, Irthos simply bowed his head slightly towards her, humbly replying, "It is nothing, dear maiden of the light. From where I come from, it is costumed to help struggling travelers in peril. I was doing this out of pure instinct and good will." He cringed inwardly at his disgusting politeness, his supposedly "sincere" remarks.

Honestly, 'maiden of the light'? Where in all of Magvel was _that _all about? Ah, how he _despised _behaving so modest and rectitude, the act was just simply revolting in his eyes. It was making him want to vomit in self-loathing.

And he did it out of sheer "good will"? Irthos mentally snorted. As if!

_Nevertheless, such unfavorable and_ _sanctimonious actions are necessary, if they will ultimately obtain the information I seek from the princess of Rausten. Once I do, I can drop the charade, grab those pesky relics from that pitiful house of mine, and return to Riev with something more than just those mystical artifacts._

L'Arachel beamed approvingly at him, a continuous exuberance sparkling radiantly in her light chartreuse eyes. "You have a good soul, kind stranger. It brings me great relief and joy to hear that there still are partisans out there wanting to dispose justice upon the guilty!"

She attempted to get down from her horse and inspect if the men partaking in her 'divine' crusade had any wounds but much to her embarrassment she somehow ended up getting her foot caught in the stirrups, resulting in a tangled mess. Her face flushing crimson, L'Arachel did her best to compose herself and muster up her remaining dignity in front of the enigmatic, peculiar druid beside her. Before she could botch up another feeble attempt to get out of this complicating saddle, the dark stranger offered his slender, smooth hand out to her as a gesture of assistance.

"Please take my hand, I can't very well have you fall and break your pretty little neck," he told her cajolingly, his wry-akin voice totally abstract to his seemingly courteous manner. She nodded sublimely and took his hand gratefully yet Irthos could detect a remarkably yet _extremely _faint rosy hue against her fair complexion. He grinned smugly to himself, knowing how possibly vital this trivial, petty victory could mean in the long run. As he helped lift her off the saddle, his black hood with pumpkin orange trimmings unintentionally slipped off his head, revealing his entirely secluded features to the unsuspecting young woman in front of him.

Her eyes widen slightly at the aftermath of this piece of action, practically paralyzed at the marvelous sight of druid's youthful visage. As the respectable princess of Rausten, L'Arachel had been introduced to countless of handsome, charming young men and a couple managed to provoke a ting of pink on her cheeks _but _that was it. The man standing before her, his hand enclosed around her smaller one, by far stood most of them up.

Elongate, soft navy-blue tresses delicately framed the outer edge of the attractive lineaments that were sculpted rather divinely on his face. The druid's features were alluringly placid; there was no noticeable ounce of baby fat or blemishes and scars that some other young men around his age had the misfortune of encountering. His cheekbones were tight and defined, his chin strong and steady, a nose that was hawk-like yet it complimented his image rather than marring it. She dared to only take a tiny peek at his lips, they were partially thin but sinfully seducing. When she leveled her eyes with his, her breath lodged inside her throat.

By the fires of righteousness, was it even feasible to have eyes like those?! They were unlike she had ever seen!

His eyes were an unusual shade of gold and they shined with supreme power and uncanny abilities. They gleamed with such intellect, such a thirst for knowledge that L'Arachel wondered if he was a man of earth-shaking academic status, a man of many talents. Those golden, enticing orbs of his were full of secrets, riddling with answers to the thousands of questions L'Arachel always asked through out her years. She knew with once brisk glance from those enchanting, breathtaking pupils he could send a myriad of females weak in the knees and into a melting, lovesick puddle of sheer mush. Unfortunately, she feared she could, in a slight chance, _be_ one of those poor, lady victims…or potentially end up like one of them.

"Lady L'Arachel!"

Dozla's holler broke her free from her captivating trance and turned her head at her bodyguard's direction. Fully aware now that she still was holding on to the druid's hand, she yanked her hand out of his grip fairly feverishly. Though she couldn't see how her countenance looked, she guessed she was blushing madly for a quite visible, mocking grin formed its way on the druid's beckoning lips.

L'Arachel wanted to smack herself in the head for even _mentioning_ his mouth, much less _describing _it. Perhaps the gods weren't on her side after all, like Rennac erstwhile grumbled about all the time. Suppose that this was their method of teasing and toying with the mortals' emotions.

_Aha! Of course! That's why they sent me this stranger to come to me and my companions' aid! His appearance was designed to seem like a blessing when in reality, he's a walking curse in disguise! _

Sneaking another glance at the still sniggering druid, L'Arachel reluctantly concluded-with a mental, wailing moan inside her head-, that yes, indeed, the gods and the forces of good were plotting against her by delivering her this darkly mysterious and appealing man to her side.

What was worse, she didn't have a clue why. She was too busy cursing the Fates (she loathed committing such a horrendous act but desperate times call for desperate measures!) for her damnable, miserable excuse for luck, when awhile ago she actually thought she had _some_ to being with.

_What did I do to deserve this? I've been obliterating evil in the name of justice and righteousness!_

One again, life wasn't looking up for the princess of Rausten. If it wasn't the lack of monsters to vanquish or Rennac consistent complaining, than it's having an unearthly striking young druid (in which later she would soon realize it proves implausible for her to be able to take her eyes off him) who just so happens to be traveling in the same course of direction they were heading.

The gods couldn't be any crueler, could they?

* * *

Peach-toned fingers gripped the silky, midnight blue sheets, the knuckles turning milky white. An aggravated sigh escaped the luscious lips of a turquoise-haired female, a few slightly damp and awfully knotted strands dangling irritably in front of her visage. She blew at a lock of her tremendously vibrant hair out of one eye yet it just flopped back to its original position. Groaning for no particular reason, Zecilys leaned her head back and it gently hit the wall behind her and the bed she was stretching on at the moment. 

Today has been such a convoluted, perplexing day for her. Physically, no; mentally and emotionally, a definite yes. She didn't even know where it all began, her thoughts and emotions alone seemed to be dysfunctional and intricate. The day ride to Grado (the weather appeared to be on their side and unexpectedly enough they made it to their destination within the day) was a bit tedious, her leg muscles started cramping up toward the end. She gotten use to the Moonstone's arm around her waist yet it left her with an uncomfortable, awkward feeling inside her. In fact, he left a whole wagon load of impressions on her.

To begin with, she couldn't comprehend on what that man's intentions were. One minute he is pinning her against a wall, ravishing her for his own personal, amorous desires and the next he is defending her name-and _forewarning_ might she add_-_against someone of equal status. What would drive him to commit such an act? She thought Valter was only lusting after her body and his need to play cat-and-mouse with her. Why should he care how someone else treats her?

…Which now brings her to another enigma about him. After when Caellach left them alone, he could have resumed his actions and pin her back to the wall to ravish her once more. Yet, he didn't and it almost seemed most particularly out of character for him. Then again, she didn't know him well enough to correctly assume his behavioral patterns, despite her hunch nagging at her about their distinct similarities.

"_**Looks like we're more alike than we realize," she mused quietly enough for only Valter to hear. **_

"_**Yes," she heard his voice echo deeply in her ears, "more alike than you can possible imagine, Zecilys." **_

By all that's green and good, what did he mean by that phrase?!

Zecilys rubbed her temples, her mind agonizing over the potential analogy between her and Valter. Just because they both savored the sensation of the flight didn't mean they were alike or anything remotely to that. They merely shared something in common, that's all. There was nothing else and yet, he implied that there is more, that he apprehended something she isn't aware of. Zecilys wasn't sure if Valter containing such knowledge without her consent either made her fuming or even more befuddled than before.

"Hell's fires, what's amiss?" she murmured with frustration, relinquishing her grasp on the bed sheets. She closed her eyes, trying to obstruct the turbulent thoughts brewing chaotically in her mind and soothe the maximizing pressure disseminating inside of her. Her method backfired. She continued to be in disarray and she emotionally didn't feel any better. She pulled her legs close to her body, encasing herself in ball-like form. Rocking herself back and forth, Zecilys tried to comprehend what was happening to her right this very second.

She never felt so tremendously discombobulated and perplexed, even since the day she realized she fell in love with Ephraim three years ago. If what she felt there was love, then what was this? A meaningless crush? An infatuation? Affection? Obsession?

No, those couldn't be it. They didn't fit the description to what she experiencing at the moment. It was like she was missing a piece of her, like she was starving and what she craved for was forbidden and ambiguous to her. She knew she longed for some entity but what? What was it that was driving her to ache for such a desire she herself couldn't even conceive?

Then it came to her.

His touch. She is yearning for his touch.

She wanted to feel those deft fingers of his roam freely all over her flesh, to have his mouth claim her lips once more in a passionate manner and artistically massage her scalp with his hands, her hair flowing through his fingers. She longed to hear his husky, wickedly bewitching timbre, have his chuckling, taunting witticism echo seductively in her ears. Her body was pleading, no _demanding_, for more. The fire inside her womb had subdued but only briefly. The fiery enticement would flare violently in remembrance of the very general who kindled it to life.

Curse him. Curse him for doing this to her! He simply wasn't satisfied with just beleaguering her physically, oh no, that isn't enough for the likes of him. He couldn't be content till his mere image and palpation is persistently plaguing her!

Furious, Zecilys got up from the bed, and began pacing through out the extravagant and decadent furnished chamber, ignoring all its luxuries as she pondered aggressively with her thoughts and shameful desires.

How could she even _dare _to think like that?! To pine for one of Valter's fortes, his ingenious, entreating deeds of sexuality? To allow him have sway over her, to beguile her for additional pleasure?

_No, no, no! Don't even tread upon the subject! Just forget about him and that! If I do, then this will all go away! Think about revenge! Recall what occurred on that heinous night and I'll be back on track. _

"…Remember what happened—"

"_**Xais!" **_

"_**Zecilys, get back! Go to your parents!"**_

"_**I won't leave you! You need my help!"**_

"_**No, I don't! Leave now and go find your parents. You must flee this place!"**_

"_**Not without you, Xais!" **_

"_**I said GO!"**_

"…Remember their faces—"

"_**Eroniz has been saddled for your escape. Stick to the forest and follow the river, it's alongside the eastern border to the path that will lead you to the Rausten palace. Once you reach there, inform the Mansel there immediately and report to him the gruesome tragedy that has befallen the Melkbane House." **_

"_**But Father, aren't you coming with? What about Mother and Alcyone and Irthos? Will they be accompanying me?" **_

"_**I'm afraid you will be undertaking this journey alone. I know in my heart I won't make it and neither will your mother. Alcyone's fate is unknown to me and as for Irthos…."**_

"_**What? What about Irthos? Has something betided him?" **_

"_**He is lost to us now, Zecilys. Forever lost."**_

"…Remember the treachery—"

"_**Irthos…why?" **_

"_**Our family was utter fools, Zecilys, fools! They were completely, disgraceful idiots that refused to see such glory in front of their own eyes and they cast such a powerful gift aside. Teacher has given me much knowledge regarding this and taught me how to avoid such errors caused by humanity." **_

"_**You despicable bastard! I can't believe you would defile our family's name like that!" **_

"_**Believe what you want, Zecilys, it doesn't matter to me. Don't force me to kill you, sister. I want you alive with me once this is over so we can start our lives anew. We can shed off the weakness the Melkbane house has for so long burdened us with and finally fulfill our dream together! Imagine it: I, the greatest druid in all of Magvel, and you, Zecilys, the finest wyvern rider there ever was! What say you?" **_

"_**I say…die!" **_

"…Remember when he ripped your heart in two—"

"_**Aaauuh…you actually…would kill your…own flesh and…blood, **_**brother**_**?!" **_

"_**You left me with no choice once you assaulted me like that. Besides, I am responsible for the deaths of my entire family so why not one more? You could have accepted my offer and came with me, sister, but you didn't. Therefore, you have only yourself to blame for your demise." **_

"…_**Don't think…I'm through with…you yet!"**_

"_**Actually, you are, Zecilys. You're heartbeat is weakening, your strength is fading, and as you know, magic is critical to wyvern riders such as yourself." **_

"_**Damn…you, Irthos! Damn you to the depths of Hell!" **_

"…Remember the Reaper—"

"_**What's this? A mortal still dangling between the thread of life and death? How amusing." **_

"_**Who… are you?!"**_

"_**Young girl, they call me the Reaper."**_

"…Remember the bargain you struck with him—"

"_**Mortal, I can sense your vigorous, headstrong resolution to survive. Tell me, do you want to live?"**_

"_**Yes! More than…anything!" **_

"_**Why?"**_

"_**So I can kill him…for the crimes he…has done against me…and my family."**_

"_**Who is this sinner that wronged you?"**_

"_**My younger brother,…Irthos." **_

"…_**I see. Very well, I will allow you to live and grant you some of my powers. When you complete your task of avenging your family against your brother, you must offer me something in exchange." **_

"_**What do you want…in return?" **_

"_**Your soul." **_

Her soul.

That was price she had to pay to live again, to cheat death, and gain otherworldly strength that lays dormant for the time being. The Reaper wanted her soul from the start and thought it would entertaining to permit her to keep her soul for a little longer, only temporary though. For once she finds Irthos and slays him the Reaper will appear and collect both of their souls, forcing her to meet death that she postponed for herself years ago.

When it was all added up, the Reaper would win in long run. She would get to savor her revenge, yes, but her life will be over soon as Irthos's heartbeat stops. The outcome was inevitable, she had sworn to the Reaper she would pursue her brother and never would attempt to abandon her hunt for her younger brother. If she did, the consequences would be fatal.

It was that very reason she never displayed her emotions or expressed her feelings, especially to Ephraim. She didn't want to leave him with a broken heart when she departed the world, she'd hate to be the cause of any of his suffering. He'd miss her, that's a given. Zecilys didn't know who else would in his company, she barely knew them enough to call them acquaintances.

But what about Valter? Would he feel any tinges of sorrow for her passing? Would he ever miss her?

Scowling, Zecilys shoved those thoughts aside, seething in how she was wondering about him again. If she allowed the mere image of him and all the "memorable" deeds he acted upon to have access to her mind then there's no telling what else she will starting thinking next.

…_**His tongue explored the moist caverns of her mouth, intertwining it around her own, forcing a pleasurable moan to escape her lips and erupt straight into the hallow, void aperture of his mouth….**_

"NO!" she cried out agitatedly, her hands rapidly curling up into fists, "Stop thinking about it, you silly fool!"

…_**He deepened the kiss even further, evoking another moan on her behalf….**_

Snarling like a savage, instigated beast, Zecilys inanely snatched one of the primly dressed pillows from the bed and hurled it towards the other side of the room. It landed with a '_thump_' and slid down the floor, lying there circumspectly. She glowered aimlessly at the ruffled pillow, her ire boiling and churning with temerity through her veins.

Why is she doing this to herself? She thought she could so easily tune those memories out and lock them in the corners of her mind; however, she couldn't and that was what enraged her to the extreme. Is she this pathetic and ineffectual? Did she posses such a weakness for the flesh she would continue to yearn for the caresses belonging to the hands of an enemy? She felt repulsion, contempt even, at herself for nearly surrendering all her self-control to man who she only met just three or four days ago. Sure he had been entering her life unpredictably and quite frequently but still….! She didn't act like this when he first ravished on her flesh for his lust, so by all means she shouldn't be behaving in this dubious, complex fashion! None of this should be feasible!

Zecilys raked a gloved hand through her disheveled, scintillate hair, sighing miserably. "I'm such a mess, aren't I? I hardly seem to recognize myself anymore. What is wrong with me?"

* * *

By the Demon King's name, he was becoming to despise emotions. With an incalculable passion. 

Number one, they could be so bloody abstruse, cryptic, and not at all lucid. Number two, they were affecting him in an extremely obtuse, cumbersome method that he is half-tempted to unleash his temper on some unsuspecting victim who was unfortunate enough to cross his path or dare to even _speak _to him.

Valter wished Caellach would be the first person he'd set his sights on, he wasn't quite through with that despicable mercenary, equal rank be damned. Once one did injustice to the Moonstone it was highly unlikely that the injury would be forgotten. He didn't just get mad, he got even. In the best way possible.

Consequently enough, the Tiger Eye was residing at Renvall though Valter doubt he was still there. He probably left with that blonde-haired mage knight-called Selene, Selena?-to travel up to Frelia and destroy the country's Sacred Stone hiding in the Valni Tower…so say the claims. So executing his little revenge on Caellach would have to wait. Oh well, if the urge was so great he could always bully Riev around, that revolting old freak was long over do for a verbal lashing anyway. He let the bishop's subtle questioning of his competence slide one too many times when he had more vital entities in mind. Now he had Zecilys secured in a room in the Grado Keep, he could focus his attention onto other matters.

Well, let's just say he _tried. _

It happened when he went to a secluded area of the castle, a secret grove only he and Slivegio were aware of (it was the second best region of equilibrium to the ruins he was so eccentrically fond of). He would occasionally take a trip there to empty his mind and design his next plan of action. Instead, he constantly found his concentration being interrupted by a certain golden-eyed wyvern rider who sparked his interest days ago and continues to do so for reasons unknown.

He had at first, believed it was her exotic beauty, the abnormality in her brilliant turquoise hair and the exquisiteness of her perceptive golden eyes that piqued his curiosity in her. It wasn't before long it became her personality that drew him to her. He relished her aggressive, vicious combative tactics, her fierce fighting spirit, her relentlessness to surrender-even when fatigue threaten to overcome her-, her irksome yet somehow intriguing stubbornness, and of course, how could he ever forget that lashing, sharply disarming tongue of hers?

_Though for all those colorful execrations she so casually spouts out, her mouth is quite delicious. _

He frowned sourly, perturbed how Zecilys could affect his conflicting emotions so greatly. And when he resumed in reminiscing her it just brought up a bunch more inscrutable impressions and caused some questions to arise, all of them revolving around her and her state of being.

For instance, why did she become a mercenary if she acclaimed ties with regal status? Shouldn't she be wherever her nobility consists of and be involved with their affairs?

That was just the tip of the ice burg.

He would then brood about how she managed to slip away from all her courtly duties and became a mercenary and then progressing over to her subtle romance with Ephraim, the main target of his duties.

_Zecilys...and Ephraim._

His hand encased as a fist, Valter's eyebrows furrowed vexingly at this thought. Noticing the fist and his fingernails squeezing almost painfully into his skin, his relaxed his fingers, easing them apart from the palm of his hand. The darkness of his mood heighten as he tried to unravel the meaning of his sudden yet minor act of rage. Why should he care if Zecilys really loved the little troublesome lordling or not? What difference did it make? And more importantly, why in all of Magvel was he asking so many ridiculous questions concerning her?

"Blasted wench, messing around with my mind," he muttered dourly.

"_**You asked me for my answer, did you not? I have it, Valter." Her eyes stared defiantly into his, her small grin never wavering. **_

"_**I will. I'll give up anything for him. For he is someone worth sacrificing for."**_

The fist returned.

"_**Really? You don't say? And this is coming from someone who thinks it is perfectly fine to kiss someone they barely even know and have some 'gaiety' with the people they interrogate, General Mooncalf!" she snapped back sarcastically. **_

'General Mooncalf'. If the anonymous feelings inside him weren't going to rob what little sanity he had left, than her biting, satirical sense of humor will. Seriously, he could barely get a mellow or cordial enough answer from that woman!

_Why should it matter? I shouldn't be bothered by such trifles, especially ones revolving around _her. _What should I trouble myself over someone petty as her? _

She was meaningless. She was just a shadowy visage of a female soldier he happened to take a lusting for. But that was it!

She means nothing to him.

…That was a downright lie and he knew it. For if she was just a face to him, he wouldn't be thinking about her and her peculiar traits. He wouldn't be pondering why he would get so resentful towards Zecilys's adoration for that brat Ephraim. And he would most certainly be sated for stealing a few kisses from her and arousing her for his own pleasure. Ironically enough, all those desirable actions whetted his appetite for her and made him thirst for more. He felt the beast within him emerging, roaring at him to end its hunger, to taste the intoxicating sweetness of Zecilys's lips again and have her in his arms again, and cause her to utter such entreating sounds of delight.

Growling, the Moonstone launched his fist into a tree nearby, his ire radiating off in an incredulous, raging aura. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he avert his attention away from her or be wholly satisfied with his previous time appeasing himself with Zecilys? Why did it feel like it wasn't enough? Why did his covet for her seem to cultivate instead of dwindling?

She was a puzzle he couldn't piece together fully and a passion he could not release himself from. An obsession he was so immensely fixated upon he couldn't tear his focus from her completely without being antagonized solely by the memories of her if she herself wasn't around do the job.

"What won't this all go away?!" Valter hissed, his head looking up to the sky as if searching for a reply. He didn't expect to receive any thus decided he had to find one himself. Even if it meant deciphering these irate, nameless emotions that appeared to be a lot more trouble than they were worth.

Unbeknownst to him, Valter just fed himself another lie. He did have a sliver of comprehension of what is occurring within him yet denied its existence. The notorious, ruthless Moonstone of Grado refused to admit that he could contain feelings other than bloodlust and a taste for the flesh.

Such an idea is simply inconceivable.

* * *

"Milord! Milord! Prince Ephraim!" 

Kyle's fairly frantic timbre reverberated through out the vacuous hallway, eerily finding no carcasses or bloodstains around the spacious area. Apparently there were some regions of Renvall that were unsuitable for fighting or constructing ambushes.

The rigid, diligent cavalier urged his horse onward, allowing it to go into a steady trot. Ephraim should be nearby…and where Orson and Forde? Orson's disappearance was understandable, he might have encounter Prince Ephraim along the way. As for Forde, that reckless, brash fool probably got lost somewhere and was wandering around the keep, committing other acts of idiocy.

Grumbling in how Forde would pay for his lack of soberness, Kyle surveyed the passing doors and arches, searching for any signs of his companions. Prince Ephraim, Orson, Forde, even Zecilys.

The hands on the reigns tighten, his face darkening at the mere mentioning of the mercenary's name. He knew it puzzled everyone why he sorely disliked Zecilys the minute he laid eyes on her. From the moment he realized she harbored some…inexcusable feelings for his prince, he knew she was nothing but trouble. And he was correct. Her abduction is what landed them in this mess, regardless if Ephraim wanted to siege this rotten keep or not! Kyle apprehended it was unreasonable of him to blame Zecilys for getting them in this perilous predicament; however it was her affections that were spelling doom for the prince of Renais. When he was told they were childhood acquaintances he feared the situation could be direr than it appeared. It seemed like he was the only one who noticed, and is concerned about the relationship between her and Ephraim.

"_**Hey, Kyle!" **_

_**The said cavalier whirled around with an annoyed expression on his demeanor, knowing exactly whose voice it was. **_

"_**What is it, Forde?" he responded flatly. Forde blinked momentarily at his rival's curtness, then continued to what he was about to ask. **_

"_**Why do you hate Zecilys so much? She's a friend of Ephraim's and is a valuable asset to the group. Why all the embitterment?" **_

_**Wordlessly, Kyle yanked the fabric of Forde's sleeve, drawing him closer until they were barely nose-to-nose. "Sssh! Not so loud, Forde!" A mildly shock look washed over to the crimson knight and he arched a quizzical eyebrow at his partner. **_

"_**Okay, but why do I have to be so close to you?" **_

"_**Because I don't want anyone to hear!" **_

"_**Um, okay. You don't have to bite my head off." **_

"_**Do you want to hear my reason or not?" Forde nodded vigorously, his eyes begging blatantly for Kyle to explain. **_

"_**I know she has feelings for Prince Ephraim. I think she's in love with him."**_

_**The blonde knight's eyes widen incredulously and a regaled grin formed its way on his face. "Come off it, Kyle. Zecilys? In love with Ephraim? I don't see that happening!" Kyle grind his teeth in annoyance, infuriated by his comrade's disbelief. **_

"_**I'm serious, Forde!" he hissed spitefully, "What's worse, I believe he likes her back!" **_

_**Now his carefree rival looked plain confused. "And that's terrible because…why?" **_

"_**Because she will probably encourage Prince Ephraim to go with her on her travels after when this is all over-presuming if we all survive this calamity-and have him abdicate the throne just for her! He'll supplant who he rightfully is just so they can be together! It is one thing if she kept her noble heritage and didn't roam around Magvel as a mercenary-yet she didn't! It will be scandalous if our prince was to marry someone like her; she isn't claiming to have any ounce of the noble blood in her! She seems to deny any reminisce of her family or her former life at all! She's hiding something from us and it could very well harm Prince Ephraim!" **_

_**Forde stared owlishly at Kyle, as if he just grew five other dissimilar heads. "So basically, you're saying Ephraim deserves better and you loathe Zecilys because she likes Ephraim and her love is influencing his actions and affections towards her?"**_

"_**Yes!" he cried out exasperatedly, flinging his arms up into the air in a gesture of 'finally, he gets it!' **_

"_**You're daft, Kyle. They don't love each other. They're just friends. Frankly, you need to loosen up and stop worrying over that illusion." **_

"_**WHAT?!"**_

_Trust Forde to be so oblivious to the world around him. Even now I still can't comprehend he didn't believe me and was able to wave it off like that! Doesn't he care for our prince's future?! _

What he saw between Zecilys and Ephraim was most decidedly improper and unhealthy-a hazardous companionship he vowed to never let his lord stumble wholly into. She would tempt him to throw away the crown and join the life as a soldier of fortune, _for her!_

Zecilys would be Ephraim's downfall.

_Judging by our situation, I'd say she almost is at the moment._ Kyle double-checked his surroundings for any other concealed mercenaries. When he deemed the area safe, he lowered his guard and renewed his callings for his prince.

"Kyle? Is that you?"

Jerking his head up at the familiar baritone, Kyle guided vehemently his horse towards the owner of the voice. As he approached an open archway a standing figure clutching a lance thoroughly soaked in blood meet his view. The eerie light from the flickering flame of the candles decorating the walls reflected off the person's silhouette.

"Prince Ephraim! Are you alright?" gasped the emerald armored knight at the sight of his battle-weary but unyielding prince.

Ephraim nodded. "Fine, but I've been better. Have you seen Forde or Orson anywhere?"

Prior to Kyle could open his mouth and say 'no', someone from his opposite side interrupted him. "I'm here, my lord." Both Ephraim and Kyle swerved their heads towards the directions of speaker.

"Orson!" said Ephraim, "I'm glad you made it." The aging paladin replied with a bow of his head.

"Have you seen that knucklehead Forde anyway?" Kyle inquired, disconcert by his absence. For a brief moment, the curly-haired cavalier thought he saw a grim, reproachful expression cross Orson's features but it vanished rapidly. He blinked abruptly, wondering about the authenticity of what he witness. _It must have been the trick of the candles. _Shrugging, he passed the image by without another thought.

"No, Kyle, I haven't. He must be somewhere in the castle. We could have recently missed him."

Ephraim frowned, a troubled gaze apparent on his face. "This bodes ill for us. We have to find him quickly, with all haste. Time is precious and if we don't hurry, Grado's reinforcements will arrive."

"Yes, sir!" replied both horseman and they began following their prince's lead. It wasn't before long Kyle felt a pointy object pricking against the skin of his neck and the whisper of:

"Hold your tongue and do not move at all, Kyle, if you want Ephraim to live just a little bit longer." The green clad cavalier shifted his focus unto his assaulter, his eyes widening with each second.

"Orson?" he croaked out, "What are you—"

"**Silence." **

The demanding, apathetic tone of the traitorous paladin was enough to convince him to stop talking. Kyle easily processed what Orson's next plan of action would be: get Ephraim's attention.

"Prince Ephraim," started Orson.

"Yes, Orson—" Ephraim's sentence faltered, seeing Orson's blade up against Kyle's bare neck. "What is the meaning of this?! Orson, have you betrayed us?"

Orson edged the tip of his sword closer to Kyle's throat, the steel nipping playfully at his flesh. "Indeed I have. Let's make this quick, Prince Ephraim. If you give me your bracelet I will spare Kyle's life."

"Don't do it! Forget about me and save yourself, Prince Ephraim!" shouted Kyle valiantly, looking the Renais prince directly in the eye. "Flee this place and find Forde before the reinforcements come!"

"It's too late for that," Orson said staidly, "they already are here. Look outside if you don't believe me, my lord."

Ephraim shook his head, hurt evident in his ocean-blue eyes. "No, I believe you, unfortunately. Remove your sword from Kyle's neck and I will hand over my bracelet to you, Orson." It was Orson's turn to shake his head.

"No, that will not do. If I did that, Kyle will surely try to prevent the exchange from happening. Now give me the bracelet or forfeit Kyle's life."

"Alright. I'll do it." The viridian haired prince slipped the elegant, mystical trinket off his wrist, grasping it sorrowfully in his hand. Unable to bear this any longer, Kyle closed his eyes and prayed to every deity he remembered that this sacrifice will succeed and Ephraim would make his getaway with Forde. He grudgingly also added that he hoped they would be reunited with Zecilys, providing if she is still breathing.

_Forgive me, my prince, for what I am about to do but this is my sacred duty. As your subordinate, your life comes first. I am dispensable. _

Opening his mouth to say his final words, Kyle prepared himself for his last act as a knight of Renais. This was the end of line for him.

"Ephraim, run!" he bellowed out clamorously and allowed his neck to sink into Orson's sword.

Panicked hollers of "No!" from both men, blood spurting onto the cobbled-stone floor and in the face of the white armored paladin, and the woeful, begotten silence of death followed his gallant sacrifice. Then….

"**She loves you, Prince Ephraim!" **

Those were the definitive words of Kyle, the chivalrous and unwavering staunch knight of Ephraim. Ignoring his inner disagreements of Zecilys, he gave Ephraim what he knew what his prince wanted to hear: The woman he fancied loves him back.

The green knight died in peace, gratified that his task was complete. The rest was up to Ephraim and his lazy, blonde-haired rival.

* * *

It wasn't till I started writing this chapter I realized character death would also be involved. This was a difficult chapter to write because I was dealing with emotions I haven't experience yet and was treading prudently when Valter was brooding about his feelings for I didn't want to get him out of character. So that another reason-besides the malicious writer's block-why this chapter took awhile to write. 

No, no, Valter and Zecilys aren't in love (yet!) but Valter's getting jealous of Zecilys's infatuation with Ephraim and he can't figure out why (I mean, this type of feeling isn't an every day occurrence, especially for him). So rudimentarily, this chapter focused on heightening character's relationships (the Irthos/L'Arachel is going to be most entertaining, that is, if you enjoy a flustered L'Arachel) and getting a bit more insight with Zecilys and what she's going through and why Kyle resents her so much.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, character death in all, and will continue reading and reviewing. Can't believe how rapidly school is creeping on me…blah, why does summer vacation have to seem so bloody short? I'll stop digressing prior to anyone falls asleep. Adieu everyone!


	10. Ten: Changes of Man

**Wild Justice**

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. ValterxOCxEphraim

**Ten: Changes of Man**

Heh heh, I know the majority of you probably want to slaughter me for my excessively, horribly elongate and dilatory update. The first week of school robbed a fair portion of my remaining free time and it will be reduced even more once lacrosse practices start up…yet I only have two practices a week and games on Saturdays (we had our first game yesterday; it did not go so well. We were practically butchered, unfortunately) so the updating might not be too atrocious (yeah, right). Enough about me, onto those lovely, stupendous reviewers and their magnificent reviews!

**The Lex and Terry Listener: **-laughs- Yes, I know I can write or how else would I be doing this? -grins impishly- Only jesting, I know what you mean. My sarcasm occasionally gets the better of me these days…. Anyway, thank you for the review, it's a great to know how much you enjoy this story so much.

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan: **Oh, I don't mind your personal inputs at all, they actually are very entertaining. When I read them all, they really made my day. I'll be curious in what your reaction will be to this chapter, more changes are happening within some of the characters (coughValter!cough). Have fun reading this long-awaited chapter, you certainly have patient enough.

**Frodo007: **Thanks, I really appreciate the review. Enjoy chapter ten, it will be quite intriguing.

**Knives91: **Yeah, but he had to be dispatched, unfortunately. Hope you like this next chapter!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: No comment. You know the answer.**

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* * *

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"_**She loves you, Prince Ephraim!" **_

_Those were the definitive words of Kyle, the chivalrous and unwavering staunch knight of Ephraim. Ignoring his inner disagreements of Zecilys, he gave Ephraim what he knew what his prince wanted to hear: The woman he fancied loves him back. _

_The green knight died in peace, gratified that his task was complete. The rest was up to Ephraim and his lazy, blonde-haired rival. _

_

* * *

_

"No man ever did me so much good, or enemy so much harm, but I repaid him with interest."**-Lucius Cornelius Sulla**

* * *

"_**She loves you, Prince Ephraim!" **_

Kyle's last words rang portentously inside his head, its signification cycling through the intricate corridors of his mind. Zecilys…there were some many feelings he felt towards her and he could barely name most of them. However, he could certainly identify the strongest emotion churning inside him whenever he conjured up the turquoise-haired woman's image. After three years of confusion and endless pondering, the Renais prince confirmed he had fallen for his childhood companion, the feisty, ferocious wyvern rider of the Melkbane House of Rausten. Now that he knew the feeling was mutual he could finally reconcile his thoughts to her without any worries.

But first things first, he had to find Forde and escape from miserable keep. Against his inner judgment, Ephraim heeded Kyle's words and fled the room, contemplating that there is no fortuity of him easily overcoming Orson. His skills were meager compared to the paladin's subsequent time of experience. Orson knew every trick in the book while he, Ephraim, was still learning from the very same book. Plus, he wasn't going to make Kyle's sacrifice in vain and attack Orson; it would be akin to suicide.

Ephraim's footsteps echoed boisterously through the whole hallway, the blood pounding violently in his ears. The clanking of his armor did much to heighten the trepidation shrouding the prince and air surrounding him. The clip-clopping of Orson's horse were not far behind.

_Where is Forde, he should be appearing soon! Did Orson finish him off before moving on to Kyle and me? _

"Prince…Ephraim!" wheezed a disembodied voice in the distance. Ephraim whirled himself towards the direction of the speaker, his cerulean eyes squinting to see the hunched figure limping agonizingly to him.

_Why, speak of the Devil!_

"Forde! I'm so relieved that I found you!"

The said cavalier nodded in agreement, half-heartedly attempted to smile but it ended up as a grimace. "Likewise, Prince Ephraim. Where's Kyle?"

At the mere utterance of the gallant yet tragically fallen knight, a dismal look washed over his perspiring countenance. Forde must have instantly detected the abrupt, ominous change in his prince's actions but he made no comment on it. Nevertheless, Ephraim reluctantly caught a blatant sheen in Forde's eyes among his mercurial demeanor. He made a mental note to allow them to grieve for Kyle's honorable sacrifice later, when they were both out of the woods and their location was in interim from Grado's byzantine reach.

Ephraim then noticed the blonde knight was clutching his abdomen rather tautly and started executing a move to question his friend on his condition only the maroon clad male beat him to it.

"Orson's doing," Forde explained breathlessly, motioning the hand covering his wound, "sprung on me right after I defeated the boss of this fort. He also confessed to me he partook in Zecilys's capture."

The fire that usually burns within Ephraim's eyes was ignited again at this most recent news of Orson's treachery. So it was _he _who was responsible for Zecilys's perilous fate, her unmistaken capture by the Grado army! All the pieces were falling together now, everything was making sense. His nebulous, elongate scout surveillances and his immediate knowledge of Zecilys's demise all pointed indisputably to his betrayal for Grado.

If only he had deciphered the paladin's behavior sooner then this calamity could have been avoided and Zecilys would have been safe from harm. Kyle would still be alive as well and he and Forde wouldn't be stuck in this misfortunate predicament.

Mulling over this, Ephraim comprehended compulsively that such thinking was all in the past so there was no sense in brooding over the countless, potential possibilities that he could have taken, no matter how great or limitless the options were. Right now he had to focus on getting him and Forde out of Renvall.

"Forde, do you still have your horse?" questioned Ephraim earnestly, detecting the absence of the crimson armored cavalier's steed.

"Sort of, I kind of lost him during my scuffle with Orson but I think he'll come if I whistle…."

Trailing off, Forde pursed his lips together and released a low, fairly faint whistling sound, its beckoning call drifting through the air sluggishly. Both men held their breath, praying that the whistle would do the trick and Forde's horse would come trotting through the slovenly dense carnage and straight to their waiting forms. At first, it appeared Forde's bade was futile and nothing would happen. Then slowly, as if it was coming out from the murky, inscrutable mists shrouding the land of the dead, Forde's horse emerged from the blanketing dysphoria, walking majestically to his owner's side. A prideful beam broke through the blonde youth's pained demeanor and he fondly rubbed his horse's neck.

"Ah, thank you, thank you, Odin. You're getting a boat load of carrots the next chance I get!" With aid from Ephraim Forde managed to mount onto Odin and Ephraim copied his antics. It was only when both men were on the horse did Forde then urge Odin who bolted abruptly into a canter.

The horse weaved in and out through the grotesque, picturesque vista of the mangled, disorientated, gory corpses. The creature's nostrils flared irately at the flagrantly repugnant and foul stench of the decomposing deceased, the horrendous odor tainting the breathing air's purity in the vicinity. Both men occupying the horse's back crinkled their noses after receiving a whiff of the ubiquitously deleterious scent, their disturbed features grimacing at the ungodly panorama of bloodshed and its repulsive olfaction.

"Best make haste, Forde, for Grado already sent reinforcements." Ephraim instructed his comrade from behind, urgency evident in his voice. Forde nodded wordlessly, squeezing his knees against Odin's sides as a gesture to increase the animal's pace. "If we create a getaway once we reach the entrance and make a break to the east before the enemy can perceive our appearance then we just might have our opening."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Hold on tight, Prince Ephraim, Odin will be going straight into a gallop, so brace yourself."

As the words left his lips, Odin lurched forward into a powerful sprint, his thundering hooves rhythmically echoing against the cobble-stoned ground, the roan stallion's galloping pace unyielding and consistent.

The gates of the entrance eventually appeared into sight, its presence looming banefully in the distance. Ephraim pensively wondered about the augment Grado Imperial Army and if the military legion's potential abundance was copious as Orson hinted it to be. From the rumors and speculations of Grado's relentless belligerence and dominance over Renais, it was safe to presume that the empire contained an excessive quantity of soldiers at its disposal. Ephraim's guess in how many men Grado sent as reinforcements to capture him was as good as any.

Odin galloped passed the foreboding gate, launching himself and its two riders into the mundanely scenic battlefield awaiting them. Alerted cries and arousing hollers reverberated in the midst of the army's ranks, its slightly frantic yet methodical sonance drifting mellifluously in the air. Ignoring their surroundings, both the prince and his companion continued their stride towards freedom, emphatically coaxing the steed to press onward. The two renegades' destination didn't become lucid until after they crossed a shallow, mitigated river and were halfway across the plain eastward.

"They're heading east! Stop them!"

By the time the panicked, hapless order died from the commander's lips, it was too late. The Renais prince and his sole companion had already epically vanished into the dangerous, abysmal shadows of the forest, leaving only the distant thundering hooves of Odin as a reminder to the countless regiments of their complete, humiliating failure to capture the Prince Ephraim and his remaining comrade-in-arm.

Their superiors won't be pleased by this. At all.

* * *

He was avoiding her. It was obvious. 

Zecilys didn't want to admit it but after conjecturing the Moonstone's peculiar and unsuspecting absence and narrowing all the potential possibilities that could refrain him from 'visiting' her (judging from past speculations he seemed to _enjoy _antagonizing her when she was vulnerable and at his mercy so why would he let such an opportunity slip by?) entailed to her dreaded but indubitable conclusion that Valter is-though the notion sounds fully inconceivable- avoiding her at all costs.

The reasons why? She hasn't had the foggiest clue. And she still also could not figure out why _she_ appeared to _care_ so much about the situation, she should be celebrating for pity's sake! The lack of the lecherous, savage wyvern knight's presence should be making her dance with delectation and rejoicing for the precious moments she has to herself in solitude, save for the books that were being sent daily to her chambers anonymously.

However, she was performing neither of these activities. Instead, she was busy pondering over why Valter was avoiding her. His whole elusive manner was quite perturbing, disturbing even. Hell's fires, he hadn't graced her with his company for three days. _Three whole bloody days! _That just **had **to be a world record for him maintaining his distance from her.

A knock from outside interrupted her reverie. "Yes?" she called out to the door.

"I have another requested book to deliver, miss. May I come in?"

An incredulous expression bloomed onto her features when the servant said those very words. That was fourth time since today! Who is anonymous person sending her all these novels and written works? "Yes, do come in."

The door opened demurely and a sullen-looking servant entered. In his hands was the book he spoke of and the melancholy servant superciliously conveyed the message that he was under duress to be here. The pained, condescension aspects on his face told Zecilys that much.

_That surly man has been acting like he is suffering from indignation by attending my needs and bestowing me with books that are given to him by some enigmatic higher-up in the castle. Could it _kill _him to smile just once?_

"Here's the book, miss," the servant announced sourly, handing the book over to her in an extremely languish, bored sort of fashion. She accepted it gladly, running her fingers with much ebullience against the smooth, tender texture of the leather bound book and flipped through the crisp, crackling pages, the inky smell of freshly printed words waffling in and out through her nostrils. She just loved the archaic yet palliative fragrance of books, new and old alike!

Zecilys averted her gaze from the book and back to the moping servant who preparing to hastily depart the room, impatience getting the better of him. Frowning inwardly at his overbearingly rude and unpleasant behavior, Zecilys neutrally approached the servile young man.

"Can you tell me who has been sending me all this books?" she queried, gesticulating to the Tuscan red book in her left hand.

The servant gave her a deigning scowl before irritably replying, "Like I told you in the past, miss, the sender wishes to remain anonymous. He made it quite clear when he threatened me with severe lashings if I dare so much to reveal his identity to you."

_Here we go again. It's a pity I couldn't interrogate him with any of the essential tools I would need at my disposal. _

"But if you can just offer me a hint or two in what his appearance looks like or what his name could possibly be—"

"I am truly sorry, miss, (albeit his gritty voice contradicted his words) but I am afraid I do not possess the divine authority to divulge such confidential information to someone in the likes of…well, _you_."

Contemptuously spitting out the 'the likes of…well, you' portion, the servant then decided to take his leave and exited the room with eager brevity. As the door banged shut and the lock clicked in place, a murderous, dour aura shrouded Zecilys and she proceeded in boring phantasmic holes into the door, wishing not for the first time in her life that looks could kill and that ill-beseeming churl was a pile of steaming, hot ash.

"Insufferable, despicable coxcomb!" she snarled, opening the book's leather cover open fumingly, her mind whizzing and concocting schisms of retribution. "I swear that knave despises me to the bone, probably a whole lot more than Kyle does and _that's _saying something!"

A folded piece of paper slipped out of the book and gracefully drifted the floor, like it was enchanted to do so. Curious, Zecilys bent down and picked up the paper, wondering if there was anything written in it. _Perhaps there might be a letter addressed to me, though the idea seems so outrageous. _

Somewhat eager to prove her estimation true or not, she opened the folded sheet up rather tentatively. Golden eyes widen incredulously as they scanned the scribbled handwriting that was specifically referring to her and her state of well-being. If she did not have such marvelous self-control over her features, her jaw would have dropped open from pure shock.

_Zecilys,_

_You are probably wondering who is shipping you all these books, am I correct? Much as I know you are dying with curiosity, it is with my utmost regret that I wish to remain a secret. Oh well, you'll just have to live with it. _

_Anyway, getting to the main point of this letter, I know how terribly dull is must be for you being coped in that extravagant chamber so I thought some books might cheer you up and keep you occupied for the time being. I very well can't have you tear apart the room in frustration like last time; that just simply won't do. _

_Slivegio says hi; thought you might want to hear that._

_Yours truly,_

_Your "secret admirer"_

_P.S. I believe you will enjoy this next book I requested for you, I'm sure you'll learn quite an abundance from it. _

The note limped loosely from her fingertips, her eyes still glued to the paper albeit she had finished reading the letter assigned to her.

_By all that's holy…Valter wrote this letter?! _He _sent all those books?! _

Zecilys took another scan at the letter, wanting to double-check that she read over every single word correctly and didn't skip or misread any. Imagine her mood when she finished reading the letter again and all the evidence that Valter was her "secret admirer"-as he so satirically labeled himself as- still pointed in that direction.

"What the hell? He's bloody mocking me! 'It is with my utmost regret that I wish to remain a secret'? Are you kidding me, you gave me the most blatant clues that even an ass could decipher!" She glanced back down at the taunting sheet again and furrowed her eyebrows at last portion of the next sentence. "Like mentioning the incident that occurred in the room days ago! 'Tear apart the room in frustration like lasttime'…pfft! It shouldn't be the room that you should worry about, General Mooncalf!"

"And 'Slivegio says hi'? Is he bloody toying with me?!" exclaimed the turquoise-haired wyvern rider, shaking her head with dearth although there was the well-known fire sparkling in her golden eyes.

Muttering a few more threats and vows of vengeance, Zecilys contemplated the infuriating manner of the letter. Yes, she could understand him being sadistically playful, beleaguering her in his own demented, twisted methods but _this_? Since when did Valter have a bloody sense of humor?!

Zecilys snorted. "Sense of humor?" she grumbled to herself, "Try 'warped concept of a deranged, lascivious personality molded within a beast-esque and an egotistical, bloodthirsty complexity' to top it off!"

When she completed in her ravings of the Moonstone and began to feel her mood lift up subsequently, she set the paper aside and thought it was best to ignore the letter in the future. He probably only wrote that note to her just to see if he'd get a furious reaction out of her. Well, if that is what he was after then he will be sorely disappointed when she acts indifferent his little 'delivery'. None of his cumbersome witticism will be able to instigate her fearsome temper she seems to be unleashing upon him the past-in which it somehow intrigued him even more so, much to her utter dismay. If he could be convoluted and unpredictable then so can she. She won't waste any more thoughts about Valter's…_eccentric_ note from now on. Hell's fires, she won't squander any more time brooding about _him _in general.

_Anyway, let's see what book he sent me…he did say I'll enjoy and learn an exceptional quantity from it. Yet why do I sense some ominous twinge in my gut? _

Shrugging the gut instinct away, Zecilys curiously open the book cover up and flipped through the empty page, eagerly heading for the title page. After skipping two blank pages, the title appeared in fine bold but capital print, flashing rhetorically at her.

She thought Valter's message was partly beleaguering and that was all of his notorious taunting acts. Oh, how egregiously mistaken she was! That, unfortunately, was only the tip of the ice burg; the book was, by far, worse. This time all of Zecilys's self-control was not enough; a scandalized gasp escaped her, her mouth gapping into a perfect 'O', and her eyes broaden extensively at the sight of the confounding title.

Inked innocently and candidly on the cream-colored page was the book's title that aghast, astonished, and enraged the female rider all at once:

_The Many Variant Methods of Erotica_

Zecilys's plan of acting aloof and apathetic went down the drain after reading that.

"THE NEXT I SEE HIM IT WILL BE THIS HEBETUDINOUS BOOK IN HIS FACE INSTEAD OF A BLOODY PILLOW!!"

Of course, the ultimate strings of oaths soon followed thereafter.

"VALTER, YOU DISGUSTING, FILTHY SON OF A HARLOT! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!"

Hence, the venting and swearing began once more.

* * *

She came to him in the dead of the night. 

"Ephraim…." she whispered, her mellifluous voice beckoning him to her side. He could only comply, erstwhile his heart belonging to her. The phosphorescence, ghostly illumination of the silvery orb hovering over the lucid, velvety night sky cast a bewitching luminesce over the figure of his secret lover. Her silhouette was shadowed by the darkness of the forest albeit he could still perfectly see her contour bathed from the moon's unearthly shine. As he took a step closer, her whole visage become devoid from the forest's sinister, deceptive shadows and Ephraim felt himself staring aimlessly into her enchanting, mesmerizing amber orbs. To him, she appeared ethereally luminous, so beautiful that the mere sight of her took his breath away.

"Zecilys," he began, enunciating her name like it was a paradisiacal prayer, "What…. How did you escape? There must have been thousands of—" Zecilys's sly, coy smirk was sufficient enough to silence him.

"Don't fret over that, Ephraim. What's done is done and it shouldn't matter. What should matter is…." She paused to lean forward, rapidly closing the existing space between them. Sensing her goal, Ephraim immediately wrapped his arms around her frame, drawing her body towards his, relishing the blissful, partly torrid proximity amongst them and their nestled bodies.

"What should matter?" he asked her, never taking his eyes off of her. Her smirk steadily transformed into a placid smile.

"…what should matter is that I'm here, with you," she answered softly, the golden eyes gazing ever so fondly up at him, her emotions blazing so truly and brightly it nearly drove the Renais prince crazy with passion.

Uttering no reply, Ephraim acted upon the first instinct that had been darting through his mind perpetually. He brought his lips onto hers, instantly absorbing all the fervor in her mouth and educing his long-suppressed affection for his childhood friend. Fervency consumed them, his hands feverishly entwined around the scintillate strands of her wavy turquoise hair cascading down her back, ending near the mid-thigh section of her legs. Zecilys's hands were balled up into fists, clutching his hair rather roughly yet it was quite endearing in his opinion. Excitation pulsed through his veins every time her fingers grazed the side of his face or combed themselves through his light aqua locks. Jubilance radiated off the two embracing fighters, their silent love expressed through their motions instead of their words. There was simply no need for words, their passionate, adoring actions spoke for them.

Abruptly, the scene was over, like the declaration never occurred in the first place. Ephraim soon found the quizzical countenance of Forde in his view, chanting his name repetitively while shaking him awake.

"Prince Ephraim? Prince Ephraim? Wake up, we need to get going."

Blinking several times to clear his nebulous vision and the grogginess clouding his mind from sleep's whimsical power, Ephraim sluggishly sat up.

"Sorry about that, Forde," he apologized to his sole comrade, "didn't mean for me to slip into slumber so deeply." Forde nodded knowingly, however a wicked, roguish grin slithered its way across his lips.

"Oh, I understand, Ephraim. You were dreaming about her." Snickering at Ephraim's flabbergasted reaction at his stunning, blunt proclamation the dirty blonde-haired knight saddled a vigilant Odin and loaded up their gear, his eyes twinkling with much humor and enjoyment. Turning back to face his prince, the scheming grin remained on Forde's face.

"You talk in your sleep, did you know that?"

Another wave of the Renais prince's dumbfounded and appalled expressions did plenty to satisfy Forde and answer his question.

* * *

A tormented, feminine scream resonate through out the corridors of the castle, piercing the fragile tranquility of the night. The lamentation aroused the inhabitants of the Grado Keep, awakening all those soldiers and workers off duty and any watch guards sleeping on the job. People swerved left and right to their neighbors, wondering how a creature on Magvel could elicit such a terrifying, heart-wrenching howl. The religious folk amid the speechless crowd produced the appropriate gestures, praying to their god or gods to save them from this heinous nightmare and the soul-splitting, horrific cries of the seemingly forsaken and damned. 

The main door of the dinning room swung open vociferously and belligerently, a disgruntled figure striding furiously into the room. Waves of ebony and navy blue tresses akin to a beast's mane flowed unruly passed his shoulders, ending somewhere in the mid section of his back. The intimidating general glowered meticulously at the cowering crowd before him, his caliginous eyes staring down at them with pure distain and repulsion.

"What," he hissed menacingly, "is that bloody noise?!" His low, deadly tone held conviction and awful consequences if no one complied. A soldier from the castle stepped forward, performing his utmost best to hold his head up high and refrain himself from trembling uncontrollably underneath the foreboding basilisk gaze of the Moonstone of Grado.

"General Valter, one of the occupants of the castle seems to be experiencing some sort of nightmare. No one here is able to quiet her." he explained, praying that his amount of bravery to confront the satanical wyvern knight would tip the scales into his favor.

The Moonstone narrowed his eyes at him, displeasure flashing in those penetrating, bloodthirsty orbs of his. The soldier gulped at this set of unnerving actions. That was _not _a good sign.

"Is that so?" sneered the Moonstone, "I thought I smelled incompetence when I first arrived here and it appears my assumption was accurate. Are you telling me you and your men are incapable of shutting a mere female up from driving us all deaf?"

The antagonized guard swallowed his breath, the portentous tension in the air practically suffocating him.

"W-We tried, s-sir, but s-she retaliated…. We had t-to leave the r-room, s-she was nearly-y k-killing us in there!"

Valter frowned disapprovingly at the petrified soldier and produced a deep, gruff 'tsk' sound laced with a hint of contempt. "And who and where is this charming young lady who is so thoughtfully keeping us all awake?"

The soldier was too frighten and worried for his own life that he missed the Moonstone's unsubtle sarcasm to realize what feasible peril he could be putting on the shrieking maiden by revealing her whereabouts and identity to one of the most feared warriors in all of Magvel. "She's in the hallway nearby the ballroom, thirteen doors to the right! She's the prisoner that was shipped from Renvall!"

Had he been a bolder, more attentive man he wouldn't have failed to notice a flicker of interest and puzzlement in the Grado general's eyes, an inscrutable yet genuine nebulous emotion that was unfathomable to even the Moonstone himself.

Valter sighed in mild irritation, knowing he was going to have to encounter Zecilys again and all the trouble that will subsequently follow. That wench was like treading on a bloody landmine!

"Must I do everything myself?" he muttered darkly and the man shrank away from him, preferably to sulk in the shadows. Valter exited the room, ignoring all the pitiful inhabitants' expressions of trepidation and fearful eyes aimed directly at him and his catalytic presence. Shooting death glares at most vexing people Valter proceeded down the halls and maneuvered his way to Zecilys's chambers.

As he neared her door, the shouts and the thundering hollers grew more and more audible and strident, the pain of a tortured soul evident in the female's incoherent howls. Inserting the key into the lock, he confidently opened the door and prepared himself to enter this apparent room of perdition.

"No, Xais! What are you doing?! XAIS!"

Valter arched an eyebrow but it wasn't at the sentence that was half-pleading, half-yelling. No, what caught his attention more was the withering, flailing figure of Zecilys herself. As he got closer to the wyvern rider and was able to observe her by the light of the candle he took off from one of the walls, his suspicions on her condition were confirmed. The quaking guard was wrong; Zecilys wasn't experiencing a nightmare, her reaction was much more convulsive, much dramatic than what an average, typical nightmare could stimulate. Instead of a mere nightmare, altogether she was undergoing a phantasm by far different than any horrid dream: night terrors.

"Stop, stop! No, oh dear Lord, no!"

Setting the candle aside, Valter scrutinized the agonized expression etched on Zecilys's features, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. There was no doubt in his mind; she was indeed experiencing a night terror, a rather nasty one at that.

Being a veteran and having to witness many a battle and a couple of wars, Valter could recognize and distinguish between a regular nightmare and a night terror. He had seen his men or other soldiers fill the air with their racking sobs and outbursts of horror and misery. The resonant cries made it sound like their very souls were unleashing all their shackled, bottled-up pain. Any peaceful slumbers had been rended aside for the warriors in the vicinity from the victimized fighters' anguish.

_So, what past events in her life could feasibly hold sway over this night terror? _

"No, don't kill him! He's just a baby, just a baby— ALCYONE!"

Rubbing his temples, Valter shook his head dubiously. This was going to be difficult; she was already accessorily deep in the delusion.

_Still, I can't allow this to continue, erstwhile she has cost me a few hours of decent rest. Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ need to sleep when it demands and I _do _become weary over time._

"Let's see how this works," he murmured to himself over the plagued yells of Zecilys, the coherency of her voice immensely wavering. Leaning over her and the side of the bed, Valter first pinned Zecilys's arms outward so they wouldn't harm him or herself. Retrieving a sense of deja vù, he reluctantly allowed the rest of his body to follow his antics. The bed sank slightly with both his and Zecilys's weight simultaneously focused in the center of the mattress. It was after this did Valter realize his error of pinning Zecilys's arms, the action just made her even more terrified and aggressive than before. The confinement of her arms only served to instigate her to retaliate against Valter.

"IRTHOS! DO YOU THINK YOU WILL GET AWAY WITH THIS?!"

Still unconscious and in her sleeping fit, Zecilys lunged her body outward, trying to assault the imaginary person called Irthos. Growling, Valter released his grip on Zecilys and she fell back to the bed. Perspiration glistened on her angst-stricken, ireful features while her body convulsed and twitched erratically. Valter stared down at the despaired Zecilys, his mind rapidly whirring for a solution to wake Zecilys up from her night terror. Physical force failed miserably, he should have known better. So what were his other options…?

"_**Do you know what the best method of extracting someone from a night terror?" **_

_**He shook his head tentatively, a perturbed expression subtly gracing his visage. The lines on his brow deepen as the wyvern knight frowned at his lack of knowledge in the subject he and Duessel were discussing. The Obsidian smiled warmly at him, trying to lighten up Valter's mental self-chiding. **_

"_**The best way, for children and adults alike, is to bring them close to you. Soothe them and reassure them that everything is fine. Do not tell them they are dreaming that will just frighten them even more." **_

"Ridiculous…!" Valter hissed, his eyes flaming from this piece of recollection, "I'm supposed to _cuddle _with her in order to shut up her up?!" Shaking his head incredulously, the Moonstone began retreating from the proximity of him and Zecilys, deciding he would rather listen to the rest of Zecilys's aggravating, shrieking ramblings than execute any of those despicable, blasphemous acts!

Another yell broke free from Zecilys's lips and horrified yet indignant words trailed subsequently after it.

"Damn you, Irthos! Damn you to the depths of Hell!"

That was the last straw for Valter. If he didn't silence her soon, the people here would question _his _competence of waking a woman out her ill-begotten sleep; after all, he did ridicule one of the soldiers and his men's capability with this and directly insulted the ability of the rest of the staff in the keep. Comforting or no comforting, he'd be damned before he failed to a task petty such as _this. _

_She owes me on this one, I'm swallowing my pride just to provoke her out of her stupid night terror and allow me to get some decent night's rest. _

Grimacing at the mere thought of his upcoming action, Valter soberly wrapped his arms around Zecilys's frame, delicately drawing her nigh to him. Her fists clutched the material of his shirt, her jerking figure seeking salvation in his embrace. Pausing, he wracked his brains for what was the next step.

"_**When you have them in your arms and they are calm enough not to do any physical harm to you or themselves, gently console them and agree with **_**everything **_**they say, no matter how ludicrous or eccentric it may sound. Give them the satisfactory that they are safe, secure, and have a shield from what ever plagues them." **_

_I'm going to loathe this next part. _

He tucked Zecilys's head underneath his chin and positioned her wriggling body in a much more convenient location so he would have an easier time "consoling" her unconscious state of being.

"Ssssh, Zecilys," he heard himself say, "it's okay." As if by magic, the erratic velocity of Zecilys's withering declined, like hearing his soothing voice seemed to have a buffer affect on her tormented mind.

"It hurts so much," she whispered, quiet sobs mingling within her turbulent voice, "the pain…it won't go away. This curse…it haunts me."

Dubious on how to respond to that, Valter begrudgingly opted to comfort her physically. Bringing his fingers to her scalp, he endearingly stroked her head, running his deft, powerful fingers through her vibrant, turquoise strands.

"I try to run from my past by attempting to blot the remaining reminder of it. My life will end when his does. My fate is inevitable."

"I suppose it is," Valter agreed reluctantly, puzzled by Zecilys's cryptic statements. Zecilys tighten her grip on him, pulling herself closer to her object of sanctum in a desperate gesture for security.

"My deal with the Grim Reaper is my dirty little secret."

Both of Valter's eyebrows shot up in the speed of light at her confession. She made a deal with _Death_ himself?! Wasn't the price usually your soul once you got your heart's desires or if time was up for you?

"What are you talking about?!" he demanded, forgetting to be serene and taciturn. Luckily, the unconscious, disturbed Zecilys did not notice the change his mood, rather she actually answered his demand quite demurely.

"It was a sinister deal for a portion of his strength and the ability to cheat death until I manage to kill Irthos."

"And?" The sleeping Zecilys didn't seem to mind his inquires. Perhaps it was the familiarity of his timbre that assured her safety and the protection of his body warmth that allowed her to reply without hesitation.

"When that task is accomplished, I die with him. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Yes…it is." agreed the Moonstone staidly albeit his troubled features contradicted his monotone voice. Zecilys…dying right after silencing this Irthos fellow? Who was he and what crime did he commit that projects her to contain such a fierce reclusion and form a life-immolating bargain to slay him?

…And why, all of a sudden, did he even _care_?

_God's wounds, nothing is going as planned for me. I probably was better off letting her screech her lungs out until she woke up on her own._

"…Valter?"

Hearing his name spoken, the said wyvern general glanced down at the speaker. There he faced an open pair of distressed, perplexed golden eyes, his partly weary, ebony eyes locking incuriously onto them. Apparently, she was now awake and just had to witness this rather 'intimate' position they were in. "Yes?" he responded back indifferently.

"What happened?" Her voice quivered slightly, affright and panic laced in her words. Valter expected this; night terror victims tend to wake up afraid and paranoid to a certain degree, only having concerns for the darkened vicinity they found themselves in. The first thought that would register in her mind would most certainly not be the fact that she was in his arms-_that_ realization would settled in later. Right now she was currently affected by the hallucination and is wondering if all she saw was real or not.

"You had a night terror," he explained to her prudently, his gaze never leaving hers. She cast her head downward, strangely oblivious to Valter's arms encircled around her and her fists attached vigorously to his shirt.

"Not another one—" she said softly to herself. Arching an eyebrow, the Moonstone decided to pry further for more answers.

"You mean this has occurred before? When?"

"During my travels, when I became a mercenary. They would pop up infrequently and erratically but…I thought I got over them—"

She shot her head upward, staring back into his caliginous eyes. No more tears were slithering down her eyes however they were still shining with moisture. Yet, through the unshed tears, Valter noticed another emotion that was carefully concealed in her bright amber pupils: grief.

"Do you know what's worse, Valter?" she began, her voice cracking a bit but gradually regaining its regular firmness, "Do you know what is more tragic and awful than to witness a gruesome, life-altering scene, to watch hordes of people you know being slaughtered like wild animals, right in front of your very own eyes?"

Valter knew in an instant she was revealing way too much to him then she originally would have wanted, the images she faced in the night terror must have rattled her common sense beforehand. He never before had seen Zecilys so ultimately…vulnerable, _hapless_ to him. She was literally at his mercy-not that she wasn't in the past yet this was different. The way she clung to him, the way she gazed up to him, she was silently asking him for comfort, for _protection. _

Valter was baffled by this. He wasn't the sort of man you go pleading those entities for. He was a killer, not a protector. And yet, here he was, sitting on his captive's bed in an 'affectionate' embrace and she was looking at him for reconcilement.

That was the last notion he wanted to commit on his list.

"…it's the agony of reliving it, Valter. Reliving the past once more and watching the bloodshed being replayed over and over in you mind until you think you will reach the point of insanity."

Valter did not like where this was heading. He wasn't enjoying how dreary or cynical she sounded or the peculiar fixation her wildcat eyes were regarding him in. Most of all, he especially disliked the abrupt churning feeling twirling madly inside his gut. He had to get of this room before everything potentially got out of hand. It didn't matter to him if he could easily take advantage of Zecilys and get away with it, that course of action would probably worsen the situation with his luck. The faster he distances himself from her, the better it was for him.

The Moonstone shifted his body around and was prepared to unlock his hold from her waist when Zecilys's arms immediately zapped around him, her grip taunt, unyielding, and fierce.

"Don't go."

The wyvern general froze instantaneously at her plea.

"What did you say?" he demanded softly, astounded to what she just uttered.

"Please, don't go. Don't leave me, like what the others did. I don't want to be alone again. I…might see them and I don't want to experience their deaths again. That dream…it seemed so genuine."

Moaning inwardly, Valter shook his head. Again, he couldn't believe what she was asking of him. "So, are you saying if I stay you won't have any more night terrors?"

Zecilys nodded briefly prior to whispering, "Yes."

Sighing gruffly, Valter grudgingly surrendered. _It appears that I have no choice_. "Very well," he murmured, "**but **only this one time." He could have sworn he saw a small smile graze Zecilys's lips and her eyes lit up momentarily with relief before returning to their previous wary stupor.

"Thank you."

And she then drifted back to sleep, in his arms with hers encircled around his abdomen, like cuddling with a rather enormous, unruly teddy bear. Valter's exterior may have expressed sore contempt for the role he was playing in while his disgruntled mind cursing ever deity he had ever known for their cumbersome meddling but there a tiny, barely calculable speck that totally contradicted to what he displayed on the outside or what he thought of his undesirable predicament. He was doing his utmost best to ignore the blasted impression.

That little speck he felt was the emotion known as gratification. The ruthless, blood-lusting, and savage wyvern general of Grado was trying to deny any notions of him feeling _pleased _that Zecilys, of all people, sought him out for security and she desired his company, the proximity between them.

He refused to even admit that he growing rather fond of the enigmatic young wyvern rider, becoming rather…_attached. _

Unbeknownst to the Moonstone, that was just only the beginning.

* * *

"Are you positive, Forde?" 

The said cavalier solemnly nodded, his disarrayed, unkempt hair emitting a wild man's appearance. "Yeah, I'm sure. Princess Eirika seems to have heard the rumors of your 'capture' and is approaching Renvall as we speak. She could already be inside the stronghold for all we know."

Ephraim frowned, despising the circumstance he was forced into. If Forde's presumption was correct and Eirika was marching to Renvall, then she was heading straight into a trap! But if he and Forde turned around, retraced their steps, and went back to warn Eirika and rescue her, than he would be forsaking Zecilys to her obscure fate, leaving her life in the hands of the relentless Grado Empire.

"Prince Ephraim? What should we do?" Forde asked him urgently, glancing worriedly at his debating prince. Deep concentration lines along his forehead emerged as Ephraim pondered, his eyebrows furrowing in agitation.

_Do I go back and help Eirika; she's my sister after all! I can't let the possibility of Grado troops capturing when I could have been there to save her happen. But I can't abandon Zecilys…too much was left unsaid between us. _

He knew exactly what both females would say to him if they were with him at this very moment. Eirika would beg him to pursue Zecilys, telling him not to worry about her and go after the love of his life. Zecilys would feverously command him to head back at once to help his sister and not even _think_ about looking back. She would reassure him that she would be fine, that it will take much more than Grado and its byzantine might to break her spirits.

Rummaging his fingers through his hair, Ephraim knew the choice he had to make, though he wasn't wholly into it. Part of him will feel incalculably guilty for deserting her to her possible demise. He will be loathing himself for quite some time.

"Get ready to retrace our steps, Forde," ordered Ephraim earnestly, "we have to go back to Renvall with all haste in order to make it in time to aid Eirika if she is indeed at Renvall already."

* * *

So there it is; this way over-due chapter. Well, at least I managed to establish it before I went back to school again and face the multiplying flagrant quantity of homework. Hopefully, chapter ten was suffice enough to assuage your suffering, if you had any at all hence my prolonging method of updating. 

As for the book part…. I don't know about any of you but I can truly picture Valter pulling a stunt like that. Seemingly, he does have a sardonic, taunting, twisted sense of humor.

Oh, yes, about the whole night terror scenario? All information pertaining to it is true, I read a couple of articles concerning the topic because I just wanted to be precise in the behavior and situation of a night terror victim and the probable procedures to act upon if one is experiencing a night terror. I also got a little insight from a friend of mine who occasionally has night terrors so that helped out a bit. From the researching I was able to construct a method in bringing Valter back to Zecilys after avoiding her for so long, have him do something _completely _unfavorable in his eyes just to get her to shut up, and reap the benefits of it later. (It's such a shame I can't show you guys the Valter/Zecilys picture a friend of mine drew on my request, it is quite amazing. Valter is bloody _smiling _in the picture; it's so strange to see that on him. By the way, just out of curiosity, who do you think Zecilys will end up with: Valter or Ephraim? You have fifty-fifty chance of getting it correct so don't be shy. However, I won't tell you if your estimation was wrong or not, my lips are sealed on that matter.)

Okay, so that's really all, save for that purple square button wants to be your friend. Heh, I suppose I bid you all adieu until next chapter…whenever _that_ will arrive.

P.S. This just came to me after reading one of Fireemblemsnumber1fan's reviews about if this story could be a movie and an idea struck me. Who would play the characters? So I let my mind wander and before you know it, erstwhile I created an interim cast list. Here it is so far:

**Valter- **Richard Roxburgh

**Zecilys- **Miranda Otto

**Ephraim- **Hayden Christiansen

**Forde- **Orlando Bloom

**Kyle- **Ioan Gruffudd

**Orson- **Alan Rickman

**Caellach- **Jason Isaacs

**Selena- **Kate Beckinsale

**Irthos- **Christian Coulson

**L'Arachel- **Emma Watson

**Rennac- **Gerald Butler

**Dozla- **Robbie Coltrane

**Riev- **Peter Fonda

**Tirado- **Bill Nighs

**Eirika- **Anna Paquin

**Seth- **Clive Owen

**Duessel- **Sean Connery

**Glen- **Val Kilmer

**Cormag- **Wes Bentley

Okay, now I really bid you all adieu.


	11. Eleven: A Maelstrom of Contingencies

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. ValterxOCxEphraim

**Eleven: A Maelstrom of Contingencies**

**The Lex and Terry Listener: **Yeah, Kate Beckinsale would make one awesome Selena. It's such shame Fire Emblem or the Sacred Stones isn't getting much recognition they so richly deserve. Final Fantasy is getting all its glory so why not the Fire Emblem series?

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan: **Yeah, it would be awkward if I was playing Zecilys. Just a smidge bit (heh, sarcasm there). I believe most of the Richard Roxburgh and Hayden Christiansen fans would be screaming bloody murder for my head. Ah peachy….

Hey, no problem, I had fun reading your first story. You finished it; unlike what I did to mine (I deleted my first 'cause I didn't like where it was going and also lost interest in it).

**Knives91:** Thanks for the review. 'Tis always a pleasure hearing your inputs.

**Frodo007: **I was somewhat floored when you announced in your last review that was so errors in chapter ten. Heh, I never though I would accomplish a feat like that. Thanks.

Anyway, I checked out Dakota Fanning and yes, she is a bit too young. I wanted respectable actors (ones opposite to Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, ect) to play the parts and it was somewhat hard to find actress within the eighteen, nineteen, twenty range (I'm terrible with celebrities) and so far, to my knowledge, Emma Watson hasn't been in any scandals recently and I know her well enough she could play a character in TSS (If you want, I can tell you who played in what for those actors or actresses you don't know). Eh, sorry for my digressing, carry on.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Now, really, if I own TSS, can you imagine how different it would be? I'd have screaming zealous TSS fans hunting me down for my absolute 'distortion' of the game. (Ex: Valter, Selena, and the rest of Grado generals would have more screen time than ever and a much more significant and prominent role. There would be plenty of TSS merchandise for all of us TSS fans to enjoy. Also, there would probably even be a movie–or a series–or a TV show that would most certainly have more than two episodes before disappearing completely off the radar.) **

**

* * *

**

_He knew exactly what both females would say to him if they were with him at this very moment. Eirika would beg him to pursue Zecilys, telling him not to worry about her and go after the love of his life. Zecilys would feverously command him to head back at once to help his sister and not even think about looking back. She would reassure him that she would be fine, that it will take much more than Grado and its byzantine might to break her spirits._

_Rummaging his fingers through his hair, Ephraim knew the choice he had to make, though he wasn't wholly into it. Part of him will feel incalculably guilty for deserting her to her possible demise. He will be loathing himself for quite some time. _

"_Get ready to retrace our steps, Forde," ordered Ephraim earnestly, "we have to go back to Renvall with all haste in order to make it in time to aid Eirika if she is indeed at Renvall already."_

* * *

"Laying aside his resentment, he stores it up to bring it forward with increased bitterness."**-Tacitus, **_Annales_

* * *

Eirika gazed mournfully at the vicinity around her, evidently discouraged at the overwhelming, incalculable quantity of Grado soldiers advancing towards her and her scant band of fighters. Victory…it seemed so elusive. 

_So many men…. How will we ever prevail against the enemy with the odds so exorbitantly_ _stack up against us like this? Why did I have to believe those deceitful rumors, I've just brought everyone into more trouble. _

"Princess Eirika!"

The voice of the silver paladin jerked the Renais princess out of her dreary, sullen reverie, her stupefied eyes losing their glossy appearance and becoming more alert and vigilant. Eirika prayed demurely with all her heart that whatever the news Seth bears that it would not bode ill for them all.

"Princess Eirika, I have just seen your brother, Prince Ephraim!" he exclaimed elatedly, his face flush in exhaustion. Precipitation glistens all over his countenance and over his brow. The damp front strands of his loosely pendulous burnt ochre hair cast obscure shadows around the edges of his warm hazel eyes. Eirika gasped confoundedly at Seth's announcement, her eyes bugling straight out of their sockets. Could it be…her brother was here to save her?

"Are you sure?" she choked out, daring to believe the implausible. Seth nodded; his assiduous form erect and adamant.

"As sure as I ever was, Princess Eirika." he responded with his usual tone of fidelity and rigidness. "I will bring you to him, if you like." He gesticulated to his saddle, and then to the distant hallway her brother was supposedly fighting in. Accepting Seth's generous and chivalrous offer, Eirika allowed the young but harden paladin to help her up onto the stirrups and secure her firmly into the saddle between him and the horse. When he was satisfied with his princess's security, Seth kicked the sides of his stallion and the white thoroughbred lurched forward into a rapid start, cantering majestically towards the direction his owner was maneuvering him to head to.

Eirika clutched a portion of the saddle as the stallion accumulated more momentum and speed, trying her best not to hold her breath in anticipation. Ephraim…he was actually alive. She would finally get to see her dear brother again.

Closing her eyes, Eirika prayed to the gods that when she saw Ephraim that together they will be able to pull through this obstinate, bleak predicament and triumph over their opponents, the Grado soldiers. Whenever Ephraim was around she felt safer, confident that victory would soon be in their grasp, kneeling at their feet.

"Eirika!"

At the sound of familiar, comforting tenor, Eirika opened her eyes violently, her heart up her sleeve and hope flashing conspicuously across her features. Joyous tears welled up in her sky-blue orbs as she witnessed the prominent figure of her twin brother amidst the sanguinary panorama, resting his elegant ivory lance at his side. Unable to restrain herself, Eirika returned the call.

"Ephraim! I'm so relieved that you are alive!"

A slow, weary smile passed Ephraim's lips.

"So am I, sister. So am I."

* * *

Forde fought resolvedly and rigorously through the Grado regiment, hacking away at any Grado soldier daring to stray from his position in the modicum battalion. With his lance, the dishwater blonde cavalier pierced through armor, cloth, flesh, blood, and bone while he sliced his opponents into fine, clean ribbons with his trusty steel sword. His ire…his bottled-up indignation was getting the better of him, was controlling his movements and thoughts. If he didn't calm down now his fury would cloud his better judgment and possibly cost him his life. 

Forde owed much more than _that_ to Kyle.

The remembrance of his fallen comrade and rival and what he would say in this situation strangely alleviate Forde's caustic and boiling rage, yet only to some degree. There was still that raw hunger for justice, the burning, consuming desire for vengeance looming inside his heart. Day after day Forde would store his inclining, maddening resentment away, locking the relentless, athwart emotion deep inside of him. The burgundy cavalier knew if he was ever to encounter Orson again there would be no stopping his vindictive wrath from escaping their metal restraints and wreaking utter, total chaos onto that odious traitor he once respected and regarded as a hero.

The sandy blonde-haired knight's expression darken, his lips tightening into a grim, straight line as he recollected the aforementioned paladin clad in white and his treacherous deeds. A foot soldier capriciously launched himself at Forde and engaged him with a lance of his own. Concentrating on his foe in front of him, Forde pivoted his wrist, allowing his lance to puncture the man squarely in the shoulder. The foot soldier grimaced but pressed onward, striking his lance upward to the higher portions of Forde's anatomy. The lance's butt generously nipped Forde's collarbone, blood instantly gushing out of the fresh incision. Ignoring the agonizing distress prickling through his body, the impudent cavalier retracted his lance arm quickly and impetuously drove his lance into the fighter's Adam's apple, impaling his esophagus. Not sparing a moment to observe his enemy's final moments, Forde dispassionately hauled the head of his lance out of the man's neck, blood spluttering out everywhere. Deprived of his sole support, the defeated soldier crumpled downward like a rag doll.

He was dead before he even hit the floor.

Scanning his surroundings, a flash of parrot green and ginger root hair upon a mangy, shaggy horse caught his attention. Grinning inanely, Forde rushed up to the armored youth and effectively blocked the oncoming assault meant for the juvenile cavalier. With a flick of his wrist, Forde's sword easily sliced through the aggressor's chest and the man let loose a strident holler as he fell towards his death. The young boy behind him gasped, awe and amazement evident in his tone. Turning around, Forde flashed his trademark, cheery grin to his baby brother whose eyes sparkled with much exuberance.

"Hey there, Franz," he remarked casually, acting like they were back at home rather than in the middle of a grisly, solemn battle in enemy territory.

"Brother!" cried out the said knight, a delighted, childish smile overtaking his features in the portrayal of his bottomless jubilance. Franz could hardly believe his eyes. His older brother was alive…he had returned, just like he always said he would. "It's so incredible…you're back, and so soon, too."

Forde shrugged his shoulders indifferently albeit his grin widen immensely. "Didn't I tell you I would return all in one piece?"

Franz nodded genially. "Yes, you did." He reached out and Forde understood what his younger brother was silently asking for. He complied, secretly wanting to perform this affectionate, brotherly action as well.

Nothing could prevent those two brothers from embracing each other in this simple but merry reunion amid the tides of war.

* * *

The aggravating, overly inundating amiable chirps of the morning birds filtered through her ears, ripping her out the slumbering state of unconsciousness. Inwardly groaning and muttering a few oaths, Zecilys languidly opened one eye, then the other. 

_Eh, mornings. How I loathe thee. _

Ignoring the lark's mellifluous sonance echoing redundantly in her eardrums, Zecilys yawned indiscreetly and began clearing the nebulous, phantasmagoric fog deriving from all those abundant hours of sleep. As she relished the delightful warmth the bed was emanating, she burrowed herself further into the sheets but was oddly repelled by a solid force. Perplexed, she refocused her attention and this time, actually attempted to rid the grogginess clouding her mind. It was then she noticed her arms were encircled around a rather large…'object' while her left leg was draped over its side. Blinking incredulously at this abrupt and confounding ascertainment, Zecilys's eyes apathetically trailed over to the 'object' to uncover its true identity and what she found nearly sent the alarms blaring boisterously in her brain.

The 'object' was, irrefutably and incontrovertibly, Valter.

_Hell's fires! How did I end up like this?!_

Zecilys took another despairing glance at her fortuitous predicament, trying to conceive in how she will extricate herself out of this adverse quandary. _Don't panic, just remain calm. The good news is he didn't wake up to witness this little intimacy…. Okay, just slowly ease the leg off him— _Never averting her gaze from Valter's face, Zecilys steadily but laggardly lifted her leg up, allowing it to hover in mid-air for a few brief seconds prior to placing it back on her side of the bed. The golden-eyed wyvern rider sighed mentally in relief at her petty success over the conundrum.

"That's was close," she murmured softly, eyes still fixed on Valter's sleeping form albeit the wariness in them soften slightly. She never thought the day would arrive when she would be able to see the belligerent Valter in some sort of state of vulnerability or serenity.

Charcoal and navy blue locks adroitly framed the contour of his face, a few stray, rebellious tresses draping over their tangent, facial boundaries. Since his piercing onyx eyes were closed, the usual barbarity was absent; his pallid features seemed strangely devoid of his incessant ferocity. His lips were a tight, straight line yet around the corners of his mouth slackened into a more casual, indifferent manner. The scant lines located around his forehead and jaw were inscrutable, barely noticeable. Zecilys analytically realized he was a rather attractive man, supporting the aspects of maturity and life-long experience while still maintaining the ageless appearance on his visage. She rationalized that Valter possesses the sort of wild, sensational duende that entices countless acquiescent women to his side, no matter how horrific the libels or flagrant rumors will portray him as. He just contained a trait that lured a myriad of curious females to him, a mystifying euphoriant of the obscurity.

Valter the Moonstone was the epitome of occultism and volatility, a mixture of suave, complexity, and truculence.

He was an enigmatic man with the heart of a beast.

Shaking herself out her reverie, Zecilys averted her gaze from the wyvern knight, perplexedly agitated of her consistent contemplations about the licentious man lying beside her. She hated how he was unintentionally foraying himself into her thoughts, always emerging into her introspections and sparking peculiar, ensnaring impressions within her. Insidious as he was, Zecilys had to give the Moonstone credit for befuddling her inner judgment and notions to some extent, if that _was_ his initial intent.

Sighing wearily, Zecilys removed herself from the bed, accumulating as much distance as possible from Valter. _It's moments like these which I don't enjoy; they are way too obtuse for my liking. _

As she walked further away from the slumbering Valter, an impetuous flash of vivid Tuscan red loomed in her peripheral vision, causing her to divert her path of travel and look in its direction.

Ah, yes, that accursed, damning, pernicious, immoral, egregious, unctuous, parlous, and salacious book!

Ever since the ill-marked delivery of the erotica, Zecilys hasn't been any where _near_ the voluptuous literature. She had been treading around it like the book was contaminated with a plague or some other jeopardous epidemic or pestilence. Glowering cantankerously at the offensive novel, Zecilys wished she could toss that printed profanity into a fireplace. Consequently enough, her room possessed not a single fireplace inasmuch the castle supported the intricate yet exceptionally advanced and beneficial heating systems operated by local Grado laborers. If it wasn't the sufficient military might or the diversity the Empire prided itself in, than it was Grado's astounding technological progresses and aptitude in successful, vital inventions.

A faint smile reached her lips, the wyvern rider recalling the texts in her history books pertaining to Grado and the Empire's magnificent process towards industrialization. For all time history lessons were such a pleasure for her; that's why she and Irthos were always spent their studying together since they both shared a vivacious passion for history and its retrospective events, the cause and effect, and the drastic aftermaths of specific outcomes.

The smile faded abruptly as it came and was replaced with a spiteful expression. Irthos…no matter what she does his mere image will continue to haunt her. No matter how long the years separated them geographically it could never mitigate the pain, heal the blistering wounds, or curb her contempt, her appetite for vengeance, for justice. No matter how much time has passed it could never, _ever_, force her to forget the massacre or expunge the memories on what was lost on that lurid, bloodletting, portentous day. Zecilys tighten her curling fists, experiencing her fiery resolve creeping furtively into her veins. No matter what betides her, she never stop hunting him down until he draws his final breath and dies by her hand.

Satisfied with her still incompressible vindictive notions, Zecilys focused her attention back onto the foreboding Tuscan red book in front her. Ignoring the inward protests she reluctantly picked the novel up and incuriously flipped through the pages. She'd be damned if she attempt to read some entity filthy such as this but—

Shortly enough, an idea popped into her head. She glanced over her shoulder at Valter, who was still sound asleep, and then stared back down at the book. Slowly, a wide, wicked grin split open her face and malevolence gleamed copiously in her bedazzling golden pupils. Smirking to herself, she approached the left side of the bed with caution, trying her best not laugh sporadically or falter in her tentative, guile steps towards the slumbering Valter.

Now, Zecilys conceived that she was engaging tomfoolery, brazenly entering dangerous and partly perilous territory and brutally waking Valter out of his sleep was the equivalent to poking a nefarious, dominating beast in the land of Nod squarely in the eye. However, she has a bone to pick with him, given to the fact he was the one who sent her this hebetudinous book of erotica in the first place. Also, it would be quite intriguing to discover if Valter was a morning person or not. Zecilys estimated he would be the latter but then again, one can never know.

_Time to find out! _

Erotica in hand and in the proper position to execute her retribution flawlessly, Zecilys swung her arms back and strenuously smacked the Moonstone straight in the face with the profane literature.

When the book vehemently swiped Valter's countenance, two actions happened:

"What in the blazes, you bloody damn wench!"

Zecily's triumphant, fiendish cackle subsequently followed the disgruntled exclamation, its taunting mirth rebounding through out the sumptuous room, obscurely signaling the foreboding sequences and repercussions yet to come.

* * *

The end was near. Ephraim could feel it. 

Most of the Grado soldiers were either dead, incapacitated, or mortally injured and on the brink of death. Some even deserted albeit there was a dearth of those defects.

"Is this the last room?" he shouted over the clamorous noise of combat to Seth, who nodded affirmatively.

"I am most certain we will find the leader, Tirado, here." Ephraim narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the ominous door up ahead.

"Let's go in, I have some business to finish with this louts."

As if his authoritative words were their cue, Forde and Franz immediately began pounding down on the door with their lances and swords. Seth, and a knight clad in dark green armor named Gilliam joined the two youths, their weapons batting against the birch furnished door mercilessly.

"You know, it would help to have a _key_."

Ephraim whirled around behind him to meet the owner of the caustic, snide voice and ended up facing a young man with long, slick jet-black hair with a hue of sapphire revealed by the flickering light of the torches. The Renais princes scrutinized the arcane fellow, inspecting his clothing and surreptitious countenance. Judging by his rugged attire, convoluted gadgetry, and the shiftiness in his caliginous eyes, Ephraim would have to guess that he was a thief.

"Yes, it would," Ephraim agreed simply, "do you happen to have one currently on you?" The young thief smirked in complacence, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

"I've got something better," he stated smugly and effortlessly conjured up a set of lockpicks from his pouch. Ephraim arched an eyebrow but said nothing. So his conjecture was accurate, this boy _was _a thief.

"Lockpicks." the young thief proclaimed proudly, the complacent beam remaining on his face. The pilferer began his descent towards the four warriors and their convulsive hacking away at the door, abusing the doorknob, the hinges, or the wooden ornate surface of the door.

"Step aside, step aside, everyone, thief coming through."

Heeding his words, Forde, his younger brother, Seth, and the robust knight Gilliam navigated themselves and the steeds in compliance while the young purloiner rapidly went to work. His nimble, slim fingers artistically wove through the metallic bands of the lockpicks, inserting one into the keyhole. After a few jingles and adjustments here and there, the ebony-haired larcenist successfully managed to open up the door, triumph gleaming in his coal-akin eyes. "Precede, everybody." he announced and moved out of the path of travel for those nearby the door waiting to enter to go through.

Ephraim waited with excess anticipation as Forde, Franz, Seth, and Gilliam passed through the doorway, followed by an extremely confident mage and a modest, humble monk who trailed right along behind her. They seemed to be close companions. Deeming it was the right moment to mimic the antics of the predecessors of the doorway Ephraim joined the others and crossed on over to the next room, where another battle was eagerly expecting him.

Erstwhile Seth had engaged the enemy with his typical swiftness, Forde and Franz were teaming up against an exceptionally skilled veteran who swung a steel axe with deadly accuracy. Gilliam, the staunch, taciturn knight, was easily dodging and delivering blows to two cavaliers, his movements concise, smooth, and bone-shattering. His two opponents were locked into a bitter, clumsy catastrophe, which eventually entails towards their unpleasant demise.

The two magic wielders were annihilating their foes with an incredible, fulminating force of light and fire, the combination of the blinding, detonating, celestial magic and the infernal, scorching, whimsical fire magic claiming countless of Grado soldiers and mercenaries' lives.

Ephraim rapidly advanced over to a guard in borderlines of his peripheral vision, immediately striking his lance outward in means of making the first move. The guard responded to the assault and with his own lance, blocked and parried Ephraim's lance. Desiring more distance between them, the Renais prince retreated a couple of steps, gradually but steadily luring the unsuspecting fighter to his doom. Seeing this guileful action, the guard gullibly took the bait, approbating himself to fall for Ephraim's delicately and meticulously carved out stratagem. The Grado soldier lunged his whole body forward, the stimulus propelling his lance to jut outward remarkably, his tactical mistake proved to be fatal once he realized he miscalculated the distance between him and the Renais prince. Prior to the guard could recover from his stance, Ephraim descended upon him like vultures swarming gluttonously onto a fresh, sanguinary carcass.

The tip of the ornate, ivory lance cleanly pierced through the flesh of the warrior's upper torso, mortally puncturing the left lung in a precise and practiced fashion. The dying man groaned agonizingly before blood began seeping out, direfully dribbling along the corners of his mouth and nostrils, proceeding down his jaw lines.

Brusquely yanking his lance out of the man's chest and allowing the cadaver to crumple pitifully to the ground, Ephraim surveyed the turbulent vicinity and how his fellow fighters were faring. The axe-wielder that Forde and Franz engaged earlier was still standing although he appeared fatigued and utterly forlorn. It wouldn't be before long the two brothers took him down with their swords.

He focused his attention now towards Seth who was competently slaying his enemies with his usual grace and air of punctilio, his fighting style completely rhythmical and fluent as he brandish either his blade or lance against the impending enemy. Much to his relief, his sister was at Seth's side, doing her best to prevail against her deadly opponents while trying not to be such liability to the faithful silver paladin who is protecting her at all costs. Ephraim didn't have to worry _too_ much about their condition (Eirika's in particular), they would be just fine if the brunette paladin continued to battle Grado warriors in that circumspective fashion.

Maneuvering his body around conflicting persons and out of enemy attack range, Ephraim made his way to the throne room, his eyes blazing with furor and utmost decisiveness. If what Seth mentioned prior was correct, then this man called Tirado _must_ have encountered Zecilys at her stay in Renvall hence he _must_ be able to conceive where exactly she's being held.

The image of the vivacious, arcane wyvern rider coruscated through his mind, invigorating the young prince to press onward, all in the name of rescuing a dear female companion, the targeted person of his clandestine affection. Effacing all who stood in his path, Ephraim managed to finally arrive at the open, beckoning doorway of the throne room, where he instantly noticed a fairly large, intimidating general standing attentively at the end of the room with a bantam amount of troops serving as blockade. Just as Ephraim finalizing his next steps in his attack, he was joined by a steadfast yet weary Seth, a stoic Gilliam, and a regaled myrmidon named Joshua.

"These Grado soldiers are quite fickle, aren't they? One minute they're not much of a challenge then the next moment they become extremely skillful." commented the myrmidon Joshua casually, his frolicsome grin remaining on his face. Gilliam grunted but said nothing. Seth nodded stolidly however his listless reply was more out of partial understanding and automatic reflexes of staid fidelity that was pounded into him at such a ripe, tender age rather than of agreement.

"It must be the combination of older veterans and new recruits in this area," Seth remarked softly. Joshua shrugged his shoulders apathetically and set his sights onto an opposing myrmidon and withdrew a coin from his pouch. Taking no heed to the other men's puzzled expressions, the blatantly elusive scarlet-haired myrmidon flipped the coin upward, his eyes never straying from the coin's course of direction.

"Tails!" he declared firmly, catching the glimmering object with one hand and slapped the hand containing the coin down the opposite arm. Lifting the hand up and away from the coin resting on his forearm, the golden circular item ominously revealed its face towards the aloof gamester.

"Lady Luck has at last graced me with her with her lovely presence. Tails it is." Without another word, Joshua ascended towards his chance appointed opponent, unsheathing his steel sword in preparation.

Arching one elegant eyebrow, Ephraim turned towards Seth in a gesture of explanation for the myrmidon's eccentric, outlandish acts. A hint of a smile threatened to spill over Seth's disciplined, stoic features.

"He does that all the time, Prince Ephraim. From what I accumulated, Joshua is quite the gambler, always relying on luck to pave his next course of actions. The coin is almost like a guide, a choice-maker for him per say." Seth explained simply, the everlasting etiquette in his tenor being amplified by his eloquent yet concise oratory.

"I see." Ephraim replied, glancing back at the red-head who fervently confronted his myrmidon nemesis and swiftly engaged him in a vicious bout of swordplay. "Since he's started the battle I suppose it's our turn now."

Seth nodded earnestly, straightening himself as he leveled his lance at the proper position for a successfully attack and fatal hit.

"By your command, my prince."

The silver clad paladin aimed his lance dexterously at a Grado knight up ahead and charged his magnificent, unadulterated white steed towards the death-marked knight who was momentarily caught off guard by this motion. Roughly piercing through the gelatinous and tarnished armor, Seth wasted no time finishing the soldier off. The knight was already dead after Seth crudely pulled the lance out of his collarbone. The reticent Gilliam just slew two green, inadequate mages who appeared to be slightly younger than Franz, perhaps a year or two.

As Ephraim, Joshua, Gilliam, and Seth fought on, they were later joined by Artur and Lute (who bombastically claimed they desperately needed her prodigious, erudite skills) who were shortly accompanied by a blonde, demure cleric who ended up being along Joshua's side for very personal reasons Ephraim was noted of eventually. After Natasha the cleric's arrival, subsequently came Forde with young Franz trailing behind him. The rest of the band, including his sister Eirika, were still outside the throne room, fending off any remaining Grado troops attempting to attain a narrow victory in their favor.

Inasmuch the combats were progressing truculently and copiously, the contaminated, repugnant and onerous smell of the escalating dead began slithering through everyone's olfactory, reeking up the whole constricted region. Charred flesh, air exposed organs, and torrents of blood lingered evanescently in the eclectic, exacerbating malodor of the wounded, the dying, and the dead.

Ephraim unrelentingly speared his lance into his unfortunate opponents, skewering their vital organs or points in swift, deleterious accuracy. Up ahead, he caught a glimpse of Seth and Gilliam preparing to battle a burly general, who Ephraim assumed to be Tirado, the leader. He pertinaciously barged through enemy lines, swiping his lance to keep his foes at bay and prevent them from aggressing onto him.

"Hmm…. My men were unable to finish the job were they? It falls on me to show my own special brand of power." Ephraim faintly heard Tirado utter to Gilliam and Seth. Seth's expression darkens while Gilliam remained impassive through the little comments. Apparently, nothing seems to faze him.

"It's time for us to show you ours," countered Seth coolly albeit the grim, infuriated impression was sustained on his face. Tirado noticed this and cocked a subtle but recognizable simper.

"Still smarting over whom I serve, knight of Renais? Your petty grudge will do you no good. If only you pushed your simple-minded, biased, and judgmental opinions aside you could truly see how remarkable Lord Valter is."

This statement earned Tirado a clamorous outburst of outrage from the said paladin.

"_Remarkable?!_" Seth seethed, spitting his words out venomously, "Since when is that **monster** remarkable?"

"Before you ever took your chivalric vows." retorted Tirado with a sneer. Enraged and indignant, Seth wrathfully charged full force towards Tirado, his silver lance at level with the somewhat bulky general's heart.

"What do _you_ know about chivalry?!" Seth hissed vigorously.

With his own spear Tirado blocked the raging assault and disengaged Seth's lance. Perceiving an opening, Gilliam rushed in Seth's defense and dexterously struck Tirado's armor with the point of his lance, causing a tiny yet noticeable dent. Tirado elbowed Gilliam in the chest and the stoic Frelian knight stumbled backwards in a moment of stupor, pausing to collect his breath that had been knocked out of him seconds prior. Utilizing Gilliam's interim incapacity to his advantage, Tirado impaled him through the stomach with his spear. He then whirled around and with his axe in the opposite hand, effortlessly sliced through Seth's lustrous armor like the silver metal was constructed out of pudding.

A fountain of blood squirted excessively out of both men's grievous wounds, a torrent rivulet of crimson already gushing downward in an alarmingly fashion. Gilliam pitifully covered his stomach gash while masking the agony he was experiencing with the best attempt he feasibly could muster. Seth was slumping over his horse's side, blood continuing to stain the coat of his snowy-white steed.

Ephraim espied Natasha alongside with Joshua, the fickle myrmidon, tending the injuries of those nearby the entrance of the throne room. Joshua was obdurately fending off any enemy soldiers from daring to even so much _try_ to accost Natasha. The blonde-haired, compassionate cleric had an excellent protector.

"Natasha!" Ephraim bellowed out urgently, "We need you over here! Seth and Gilliam are down!" He glanced back at the said fallen men who were struggling to overcome Tirado even with their detrimental, bleeding afflictions hindering their movements. Gilliam managed to block several of the general's onslaughts with his steel lance and Seth was in the middle of dodging Tirado's attacks, striving to discover an potential opening and penetrate through a masterfully concealed weakness located somewhere in Tirado's armor.

Seeing how dire their situation was, Natasha picked up the folds of her recently bloodstained white dress and scrambled in haste over to their side. Joshua wasn't far behind her, slashing and cutting down anyone who stood in his path or meant any harm towards Natasha.

Tirado, immediately noticing this act of impending assistance, took up a javelin from the grip of one of his deceased subordinates, and propped it up over his shoulder. Fastidiously eyeing her dashing form and aiming the point with absolute precision, the adjutant of the Moonstone concisely launched the javelin into the air, the deadly weapon spiraling straight at the running female cleric.

It was difficult to assert as to who glimpsed the descending javelin first, Joshua or Ephraim. The warning cry was lodged in Ephraim's throat and ready to burst out by the time Joshua sprinted up to Natasha's side and unceremoniously shoved her out of the javelin's path of direction. Natasha slid to the marbled floor, her curly blonde head whirling around fearfully, panic lighting up in augmentation inside her benign powder blue eyes.

"Joshua!" she cried out despairingly, immobilized as she helplessly watched the javelin perilously contacted with Joshua's side. A sharp, haggard intake, then a hiss of pain escaped the red-head's lips and he grimaced. He turned to Natasha who was staring solicitously at him, silently begging for assurance of his condition. The whimsical myrmidon cocked a jaded, partly anguished smile but it was a smile nonetheless.

"It's just a graze, nothing worth trifling over," he reassured her and she nodded dubiously, her eyes fixed suspiciously at the scarlet blotch seeping sluggishly from the open incision around the side section of his back. "Go to Gilliam and Seth, they need you. I'll be fine; I have some vulneraries in my burlap if I should need them." Notwithstanding, Natasha was only partially convinced but complied to Joshua's wish. She quickly got up and raced over the men who were now leaving a trail of maroon droplets in their wake and with every step they took. Ephraim took the liberty to stall Tirado while she healed Gilliam and Seth and much to the prince's relief, Joshua soon joined the fray.

"Hopefully, this time, Lady Luck will be much kinder to me," he said cajolingly, ducking Tirado's lance. Ephraim propelled Reginleif near Tirado's lower joints, hoping to sever a tendon near his calf muscles or ankles. The mighty general spied this action and twirled his steel lance over to Ephraim's side and effectively halted its movement.

"So you're Prince Ephraim," the adjutant stated with surprising halcyon.

"And who you might be? I didn't catch your name before." Ephraim replied curtly, retracting his lance and allowing to rest at his side. Tirado chuckled mirthfully at the brevity in the prince's speech.

"I am Tirado, humble adjutant of Lord Valter, also known as the Moonstone."

"_**One of Grado's generals found me. Valter the Moonstone was his name." **_

"If you know Valter—" started the Renais crown prince, his tone low and grave. Tirado looked at him questioningly, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

"—then you obviously know where Zecilys is." he finished firmly, staring intensely at the efficient, strategic general who served under Valter, the very man Ephraim _knew_ for certain retained Zecilys in his clutches.

At the mere mentioning of Zecilys's name, full recognition washed over Tirado's visage. "Ah, Zecilys. Are you referring to a turquoise haired, golden-eyed wyvern rider?"

Ephraim's eyes widen copiously at this astounding, rattling question. "Yes!" he answered deploringly, "Where is she?!"

A conspicuous, egregious grin twisted itself across Tirado's lips and a chilling, foreboding snicker echoed from the regaled general. "Zecilys…" he began, relishing this moment of torment, "is currently under the possession of Lord Valter. Due to past speculations, I would say he is utmost _intrigued_ with her. I wouldn't be at all shocked if he has her warming up his bed and himself now."

Some restrain within Ephraim snapped and he aggressively advanced towards Tirado. "Don't you **ever** talk about Zecilys like that! She is not piece of meat you can so casually degrade with your comments!" He jutted Reginleif outward, confronting Tirado nearly head-on. Up ahead, he noticed Joshua, Gilliam, and Seth heading their way to him hence he pressed on further.

"It seems I have struck a nerve. What, jealous, princeling? Affrighted that Master Valter will snatch your precious Zecilys's heart away?" Ignoring the jeer, Ephraim flashed his lance and Tirado mimicked his tactics. He conjured an axe from his holster, discarding the lance momentarily. Swinging the axe proficiently, Tirado knocked Reginleif out of striking distance. "Oh, I see what lies in your eyes, Prince Ephraim. I see how much you desire her."

"You know nothing!" spat Ephraim, albeit he knew his statement was vacant and a miserable lie. Tirado just guffawed at his declaration.

"Oh really? Then why are you getting so worked up? If she was just a baseborn, petty mercenary you just hired then why all the fire?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Getting testy about the subject, are we?" He eluded another assault on Ephraim's part and with his free hand, delivered a solid, perfected uppercut to Ephraim's chin. He stumbled backward awkwardly, the excruciatingly agonizing throe prickling gluttonously from his chin to all sides of his jaw and fist.

_That was one mean uppercut!_

Wholly satisfied in witnessing the Renais prince's distress, Tirado opted to do some more damage, this time mentally.

"Let me warn you, Prince Ephraim, that what ever affections you have laid for this Zecilys woman you should cast them aside. Lord Valter is quite adept when it comes to wooing women. Belligerent and bloodthirsty he may be, yet he possesses a radiant, magnetic quality that most females come flocking to him the instant they become acquainted with him. Local village girls, conquered lasses from foreign countries, warrior maidens, all fall to his deviant, memorizing, and magnitude duende. Their fate is inevitable. Your Zecilys's fate will be the same way. She will hopelessly be attracted to him and then persistently beg him to perform his pleasurable, aphrodisiac deeds upon her, to slake his lust and hunger for the flesh. The ones prior to her pleaded endlessly to have him make love to them and swiftly, he answered each and every one of their requests, rendering them to be craving for more in the end."

Tirado paused for a minute, the amused, smarmy smirk gracing his sweating features once more.

"Although he did not stimulate any lasting or touching relationships with any of them, he did leave a rather bittersweet, eternal impression on them. To them, he is a legend, a mysterious one at that."

"That's _sacrilegious_!" Ephraim proclaimed impulsively, trying unsuccessfully to keep his temper in check. Tirado shrugged, appearing nonchalant.

"Like it or not, that's who you're dealing with if you wish to obtain this woman's affections. It's pointless, if you ask me."

Ephraim scowled dourly at the taunting general, rigorously compressing the puissant urge to just confront him in a blind rage and wield his lance about like a madman. The notion of engaging Tirado in a sporadic, delirious frenzy without the regular conscious, rational thought process was most certainly compelling, terribly tempting at the moment. He wanted, no, _desired_ to have this man to dearly pay for his words, for uttering every disparaging, desecrating remark on Zecilys's behalf.

"I didn't ask for your opinion and I never intend to." he countered matter-of-factly, subtly observing the approaching figures of his companions who are primed to pounce on Tirado from behind.

"Such foolhardiness."

With that, Tirado slashed sideways at Ephraim, who luckily avoided the attack by a hair. Much to the prince's astonishment, instead continuing his aggression, Tirado just spun around and embedded his axe into Seth's chest plate. As the tumultuous, ponderous impact of the axe crushed into the region of his lungs, Seth gasped raggedly for air, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth aforetime.

"Did you really think I couldn't hear you sneaking up behind me?" demanded Tirado derisively, lips curling into a malignant sneer. Seth only coughed and regurgitated more blood from his system. To prevent the silver paladin from receiving any further physical damage Gilliam struck his lance out Tirado, its tip puncturing through the shoulder protector and into his shoulder blade. The adjutant winced at the precipitate pain but knocked the stout knight aside. Taking advantage of the circumstances, Seth managed to wedge the edge of the axe out of his breast plate and retreat to obtain an adequate distance from the general for attacking and defending. Gilliam, recovering from the blow, directed the lance again at Tirado and this time, he counterattacked the technique and aimed his axe straight for Gilliam's head. Being no pushover and one of the renowned knights in Frelia, Gilliam aptly ducked his head down and maneuvered his body of armor around to keep out Tirado's striking range. Joshua then took Tirado's laggard recovery as his cue for an onrush.

Brandishing his armorslayer ardently over his head and then sweeping it down in an elegant, rhythmic arch, Joshua's blade effectively sliced through Tirado's armor, mercilessly slashing him at the forearm, leaving a grisly gash as a souvenir.

Gasping at the extremity of the injury, Tirado's hold on the axe slackened slightly, giving Ephraim the chance to catch him by surprise. He thrust Reginleif outward methodically, feigning an assailment towards his abdomen then twirling Reginleif at his unprotected collarbone. Perceiving Ephraim's intent, Tirado automatically retreated but was halted by Gilliam, who delivered him a nice clout to the jaw and then a jab in temple from the end of his lance. Tirado crumpled to the ground, temporarily dissembled from combat. Both Ephraim and Joshua closed in on him, lance and sword prodding outward, aiming for the kill. However, Tirado still have some fight left in him.

Getting one knee of the ground, he parried Ephraim's lance with his axe and smoothly dodged the full extent of Joshua's oncoming sword, only receiving a nip on his cheek. He pushed himself forward and manically knocked Reginleif out of Ephraim's hands, shoving him down to the ground with the butt of his axe. Reaching out for a fallen lance, Ephraim rolled out of harm's way and rapidly got up, lance in hand. Looking furious, Tirado pursued him, axe poised and angled for a fatal blow. Joshua, seeing Ephraim's trouble, instantly engaged him. The swift, flawless strokes of the Jehannan myrmidon easily overcame Tirado's axe and landed a crucial hit on his bicep. More blood poured from his flesh. There were now two slash marks in his armor, both along the right arm. In torturous pain, Tirado aimed a meager kick, then a punch in Joshua's way but he evaded both physical assailments. Sensing Tirado was becoming fatigued by sudden blood loss Joshua decided to end this with a quick and final blow.

First, he advanced capriciously towards the general, silently telling the others that he had this man right where he wanted and interference wasn't necessary. Ephraim watch Gilliam and Seth nodded affirmatively albeit the brunette paladin appeared to be a bit listless in his movements.

Feigning a swipe to the left, Joshua switched his position and twisted his body to the right and furtively slips past Tirado's swinging, heaving axe. His target wide open and vulnerable, he succinctly plunges the armorslayer straight into the center of Tirado's stomach, shifting the blade counterclockwise while fiercely driving the sword further into his body, puncturing the inner flesh, walls of tissues, organs, and then bone. Tirado wheezed agonizingly, his pupils dilating and rolling insanely around and around in their eye sockets. Believing the general was suffering enough, Joshua effortlessly retracted his blade from Tirado's body. Knowing his time was dwindling, Ephraim rushed to the dying Tirado, decisive in extracting some answers pertaining to Zecilys from the adjutant of Valter.

As he approached the bleeding Tirado, the man spied him and opened his mouth to speak. Yet before he could begin, lean, sanguine streamlets trickled down his nostrils and jaw lines, circulating past his neckline, forebodingly signaling his impending, baleful death.

"Very…impressive…. However…I expect you'll wish you'd died here on my steel. Lord Valter is…not nearly as merciful as I…."

Ephraim kneeled down, grabbing him by the ends of his projecting collar. "Where is Zecilys? Where are you keeping her?!"

Tirado chuckled feebly, excessive quantities of blood pouring from his wounds, nose, and mouth. "Do you…really think I will answer that while Death is…just looming over me, eager to take me away? I'm at death's door, little princeling, and there is nothing…you can do about it. You cannot save…your friend Zecilys; she belongs…to Lord Valter now."

"TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!" thundered Ephraim, losing total control of his emotions and rationale. Tirado guffawed bitterly; regalement lucidly entwined in his mirth of mentally aggravating the Renais prince.

"Never."

He died laughing at Ephraim's expense.

* * *

He failed her. 

He failed in finding her whereabouts thus he failed in saving her. Now he would have to wait _even_ more to search for Zecilys and rescue her from her captors, yet who knows what kind of horrors she is facing in at the mercy of the satanical, licentious wyvern knight General Valter.

Ephraim closed his eyes momentarily, ashamed in his default. _I'm so sorry, Zecilys. Please forgive me. I will come back for you, even if it takes me half a lifetime I'll still be in search of you._ He prayed with all his heart that Zecilys was still alive and kicking and was fending off her antagonists with the best of her abilities.

"Prince Ephraim…can I have a word with you?"

Opening his eyes at the familiar, comforting voice, Ephraim turned to face Seth, who recently had been patched up by the healers. His movements and walking in general were normal; he was just a little sore or tender in some areas.

"Yes, what is it, Seth?"

Seth hesitated at first, his eyes wary, but then after a second's worth of contemplation, resumed the conversation. "This woman you mentioned earlier, Zecilys…. Does she have any relation to the Melkbane House?"

Ephraim reveled at the paladin's sharp, lasting memory, his eyes extending in disbelief. "Yes! Her name is Zecilys Sebulia Melkbane. You remember her?" He said the last sentence with much incredulity. Seth nodded and then continued on with his train of thought.

"About this Zecilys character…there is something you should know pertaining to her and you. It was kept secret by your father and me but recent circumstances demanded me to break my silence."

At this precipitant confession, Ephraim bemusedly cocked a light aqua eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

Seth looked at his prince in an assiduous manner, malleable to his lord's will. "Do you recall three years ago, in the Melkbane Manor, the festive ball on the fifteenth of March-or the Ides of March as the Raustans refer to it as?"

Realization washed over Ephraim as his sea-blue eyes lambently lit up, for he recollected that ominous event all to well. He privately dubbed it as the day where he truly began falling for Zecilys. "Yes, the Day of the 300 Martyrs! What happened between you and father?"

"The accurate term would be what happened between _Zecilys's father_ and your father," corrected Seth simply.

_**March fifteenth. **_

_**Some call it the Ides of March. **_

_**Here, in Rausten, March fifteenth is better known as the sacred Day of the 300 Martyrs, where 300 vigilant, meritorious Raustens defied the immoral, corrupt leaders of the current Rausten theocracy. All of them were slain, not a single person survived. Yet what made the event so famous and memorable was that it was not just men who were butchered, but women, and even a modicum of adolescents joined the patriotic spectacle. They fully declared their beliefs of their country and denunciated the ruling demagogue of the theocratic government. The theocracy's main, superior bishop condemned the 300 martyrs as "heretics" and then initiated an onslaught onto the obstinate, fractious civilians. They valorously stood their ground but were soon mercilessly trampled by the overwhelming, burgeon regiment of Rausten warriors. When deaths of the 300 martyrs reverberated through out all of Magvel, their names were whispered with utmost honor and deep admiration. In just a few days after the untimely slaughter, a behemoth of militia and revolutionaries marched to the capital of Rausten, the lavish Rausten Castle. **_

_**The battle was long, gory, and bitter, two grisly months of sanguinary galore. Casualties reigned on both sides albeit the revolutionists ultimately succeeded when they had their leader, Mansel Luther (the future great-great-great-great-great grandfather of the present day Mansel Pontifex) overthrew the despicable, adversarial Bishop Torquemada and the people hailed him as their new leader. With a firm but ardent hand, Mansel Luther united Rausten back to the spiritual, righteous land it once was and issued a decreed that the Ides of March shall also be known as the Day of the 300 Martyrs, who sacrificed their lives for their country and for the principles it stood for. The Day of the 300 Martyrs was to be a national celebration and the day was treated as such thereafter. **_

_**At the Melkbane House, the inhabitants hosted a luxurious, sumptuous ball for its people and guests. Ephraim, his father, and Seth, were one out of those countless of guests invited to this grand, blithe festival.**_

"_**Stop tugging at your collar, Ephraim," the King of Renais gently reprimanded his antsy fifteen-year old son who was about to rip the aggravating, stiff collar off his formal dress tunic. Scowling, Ephraim complied and his fingers begrudgingly relinquished their hold on the propped-up collar.**_

"_**But it itches," he grumbled, fixating his eyes contemptuously onto the floor. His father chuckled, patting him on the back. **_

"_**You'll get use to it, you'll be having so much fun here you will completely forget about that collar ever bothering you." **_

_**Ephraim frowned but did not object. "Whatever you say, Father." The king could easily detect the desire to rebel against him and smiled amusingly, deciding not to comment on it. Instead, he merrily changed the subject. **_

"_**Why don't you dance with any one of those pretty maidens over there," he bantered, gesticulating to the scant yet exuberant crowd of dancing young girls ranging around Ephraim's age or younger. Ephraim shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with his father.**_

"_**I don't dance." the crown prince stated bluntly and King Fado sighed. **_

"_**Don't or won't?"**_

"_**Both." **_

_**King Fado was about to attempt again to mollify his son to dance with at least**_** one**_** of the lasses when a modicum of commotion diverted his attention from the dancers towards the three quarreling people off to the side. The oldest of the trio fashioned a lovely turquoise mane of excessively curly hair, her slanted amber eyes flashing exasperatedly at the two younger ones before her. King Fado immediately perceived who the three were. **_

**That would have to be Lord Hayden's eldest child, Alcyone. Then—**

"_**I will not have my hair up in some frivolous, intricate design that will only serve to be a burden!" protested the younger girl ardently, her long, flowing turquoise hair matching her older sister's hair color. The younger sister bored her fierce, wildcat eyes up at her sister who pursed her lips in frustration. **_

"_**If you want to be so pig-headed about it then be my guest, Zecilys!" Alcyone snapped bitterly.**_

"_**If you wouldn't get your undergarments all in a bundle I wouldn't have to be!" Zecilys retorted with equal fire.**_

"_**Zecilys, Alcyone, if you two don't stop fighting, Mother and Father will have our heads," warned the sole boy of the trio, who was, in fact, the youngest. His golden orbs scanned the festive vicinity tentatively, as if he was expecting their parents to pop out of nowhere and surprise them. A lock of navy blue fell against his face and he brushed the strand of hair aside, eyes still glued to his squabbling sisters and the ballroom in front of them. **_

—**the other two must be Zecilys, and the youngest, Irthos. **_**The king of Renais watched the scene in regalement, wondering if the siblings would resolve this conundrum or not.**_

_**Consequently, Alcyone was the one to give in, sensing she was fighting a losing battle. Sighing, the eldest abandoned her position in antagonizing her younger sister with her the style of her hair. "Alright, Zecilys, if you want your hair to remain down, I'll allow it. Just behave, okay?" **_

_**Satisfied that she had prevailed, the fifteen-year old Zecilys nodded affirmatively and grinned inanely. "Thanks, Alcyone!" she exclaimed and then turned to her fourteen-year old brother who was relieved that the fighting had ended. "Let's go and get something to eat, Irthos. I'm famished!" **_

_**Both brother and sister raced off to the food concession area, weaving in and out through the epic movements of the dancers. Smiling softly, Alcyone shook her head and went in join the terpsichorean crowd, erstwhile having her full slot of young, eligible men eager to lead her into a dance or two. **_

"_**Ephraim, you have met Zecilys before—" King Fado abruptly broke off on his question when he focused his attention back on to his son. He was incredulously caught off guard to what he was witnessing with his own two eyes. There was his son, who in the past showed no interest in girls whatsoever, was intently gazing at the vivacious, feisty middle child of Hayden Rupert Melkbane, the head of the Melkbane House. Ephraim's marine eyes were trailing after the fleeting figure of Zecilys, attentively observing and determining her every move. A knowing, fatherly smile graced the stalwart king's lips and he nudged his son in the back with his elbow. Ephraim's head snapped up to face his father, a puzzled expression resting on his face and wariness gleaming in his ocean blue orbs. **_

"_**Why don't you ask her for a dance?" King Fado cajoled, amused when Ephraim's countenance flushed in discomposure, immensely chagrined by his father's decisive perception. **_

"_**No." mumbled Ephraim, avoiding his father's gaze for the second time. King Fado chuckled. **_

"_**Now, now, Ephraim, if you like a girl you should pursue her, not stand in the corner sulking. That set of action won't get you very far, you know." He flashed his son another wily grin. "And I will have to estimate that Zecilys is not a mind-reader." **_

"_**Fa**_**ther**_**!" Ephraim hissed sharply, "Quit talking about her! I'm not…well, I don't…me and her—" The king laughed heartily as Ephraim fumbled over his words, feebly trying to persuade his father he had no attraction whatsoever to the adolescent Zecilys.**_

"_**Just go to her and ask her to dance," said King Fado sagely, silencing the flustered Renais prince and his measly attempt to hoodwink his father, "show me some of that courage your combat instructors so fondly proclaim you possess."**_

_**Glaring irritably at his father for impelling him to capitulate to his request, Ephraim mumbled a "Fine, I'll do it!" and stormed off into the direction where Zecilys and Irthos were presently at. **_

"_**I've never seen Prince Ephraim ruffled up like that before, Your Highness," commented a deep, familiar voice from behind. **_

"_**Just how long have you been there, Seth?" **_

_**Seth materialized out of the shadows and approached his lord, appearing right at his side. "Long enough to hear everything. Especially the part pertaining to Zecilys." **_

_**More laughter escaped the Renais king's mouth. "He's quite smitten towards her, isn't he, Seth?" **_

_**Instantly spotting the whirling, dancing figures of his prince and the girl he clandestinely yearns for, the said paladin allowed a faint but authentic smile to grace his smooth, placid features.**_

"_**It would seem so, my king."**_

_**

* * *

**__**Why was he doing this? He must have lost his mind. **_

**Why did Father make me do this? It won't end the way he believes it will!**

_**Ephraim paved his path through the ballroom, ignoring the vehement, sporadic rhythm of his heartbeat. She would say no, she never liked to dance anyway. He would ask her and she would promptly say no to him and walk away. She would say no, no, no—**_

_**Shaking himself out of these dejected, dismal introspections, Ephraim pressed onward, unflinchingly persistent with his task at hand. No matter what the outcome was, he had to go through with his act. If he bailed out now, he would never hear the end of it from his father. Even **_**Seth**_** might tease him about it! **_

_**With his pride pendulously in the balance, Ephraim at last found Zecilys and her younger brother Irthos, eating and chatting away like there was no tomorrow. **_

**Be relaxed and calm; keep your words smooth and even, and your voice controlled. **

"_**Er, Zecilys?" he called out, nearly forcing the words out of his throat. The siblings' discussion died instantly and the said youth whirled around to face him. Her golden, enchanting orbs stared directly and solely at him, waiting for him to continue. At that moment, his mouth went dry at the sight she unintentionally displayed. **_

_**He always thought she was a comely girl but tonight he never seen her so beauteous, so augustly striking. Her elongate, wavy turquoise hair was fully down, draping near her mid-thighs (or where he **_**thought**_** her thighs were), ethereally scintillating from the myriad flames of the glowing candles disseminated across the grand, enormous ballroom. Yet it was also the dress that absolutely immobilized him and left him breathless, for he never witnessed her in one. **_

_**The sacque gown was the color of pure ebony, the blackest of all nights. Silver trim were symmetrically sown into a V-esque shape that closed off at the bottom of the bodice. The vacancy of the V trimmings left plenty of room for the onyx ribbons to be tied up around her breasts and to the end of her bodice. The taffeta hugged her emerging endowed figure, generously displaying her proportional curves and slender frame. As if on instinct, his eyes surveyed upwards, towards her upper torso, haplessly observing how the crushed velvet gown discretely yet magically showed the maturing aspects of Zecilys. He couldn't help it but cast his curious gaze upon her chest, feeling slightly shameful yet at the same time marveling how much she had developed when he was back home, in Renais. With lingering eyes he then steadily looked up to her face, soaking in the radiant sight before him. **_

_**Her lovely, mystifying amber orbs were still the same, but only lovelier. Her face lost the majority of her baby fat and portrayed an older, wiser Zecilys standing in front of him. The way the lights seemed to prance about in her eyes and reflect off her creamy, tan-tinted skin galvanized the prince into wishing to cup her cheek or stroke her sturdy yet salaciously bare neck with his itching fingers. **_

_**She was absolutely, positively breathtaking. **_

_**Rigorously repressing all his passions in and hoping he wouldn't make an utter fool of himself, Ephraim cleared his throat and formed the words he knew would seal his fate completely and wholly. **_

"_**Would you like to have a dance with me?" **_

_**How he managed to sound eloquent and composed, he'll never know but obviously his somewhat articulate words seemed to affect Zecilys. She first blinked, whether from someone was actually asking **_**her **_**to dance with him (he knew she wasn't very popular among the other youths her age or court officials for that matter) or it was **_**him**_** who asked her to dance. Ephraim thought he would die on the spot if another second went by if she hadn't at that precise moment smiled sincerely to him–his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of that salving beam–­and nodded cordially. **_

"_**Yes, I would," was her answer. **_

_**They then were swept away into the mellifluous sonance of the music, enchanted by the strings of the bard's lure, the sweet, delicate melody of the flute, and the enriched, compelling baritone of the singer. Ephraim held Zecilys close to him, reveling the proximity between them and he had a better, more explicit close-up view of her. **_

_**He hungrily eyed the manner in which her bosoms were practically spilling out of the bodice of her gown, exposing a fair portion of her chest. The crushed velvet under his fingers was so soft and entreating, allowing him to "innocently" run his hands up and down her arms and back under the guise of the dance movements. Then when he twirled her, he carnally watched the direction in which her skirt would sway and flare upward, ogling her extremely enticing figure with those voluptuous curves being exhibited by the sensuous sable gown. Her mere presence–especially in **_**that**_** dress!–was prurient to him, evoking lascivious desires from him. He couldn't stop staring at her, incapable of tearing his eyes away from her. **_

_**He was enamored by her, bewitched by her, infatuated with her. **_

_**He **_**loved**_** her. **_

"_**It's been awhile since I've last seen you, Ephraim," Zecilys commented simply, arching her back and dipping herself backwards as Ephraim confidently supported her back with his hand to prevent her from falling. "It has been what, a year or so?" Ephraim nodded in agreement. **_

"_**Yes, my father has been very busy. All these political ties, tariffs and commerce, local quagmires with the Renais people, and among other issues had Father's hands tied." **_

_**Absolute understanding bloomed across Zecilys's sun-kissed features and she tilted her head in a peculiar form. **_

"_**Same goes for my father but a dearth of the conundrums are more personal. It's family business." Zecilys admitted matter-of-factly. "Basically, there's been a huge controversy with Alcyone's newly discovered husband and Aunt Bertha (she made a face at the mere mentioning of her ill-humored, harridan of an aunt) has been shrieking bloody murder for the past two weeks, proclaiming and wailing about 'preserving the purity in the blood of the Melkbane House' and 'continuing the intermarriage practice' and a bunch of fatuity and hogwash that I didn't bother to listen to." **_

_**Ephraim cocked an eyebrow, deeply curious in what irked Zecilys's termagant-akin aunt so. What was all the fuss about her older sister's husband? "What does your Aunt Bertha have against Alcyone's husband?" he questioned earnestly as Zecilys performed another twirl, inducing her wavy turquoise locks to sail outwards and offer Ephraim another spectacular glimpse of her fair neck. He swallowed his breath to control the animalistic lust that was gradually escalating in a ravenous crescendo. **_

_**She only replied to his question when she was back in her original stance and shifted her eyes around to reassure herself no one was close to them hear what she had to say. "Rumors have been going around and spreading vicious, sophistic canards about Alcyone and Ceyx so I want you hear to the truth from me." She leaned in closer to Ephraim, which was doing nothing for his nerves or his restraint on his roaring, raging concupiscence throbbing mercilessly in his groin. "Promise you won't tell anyone, Ephraim?"**_

"_**I promise." **_

_**Doing another check around all sides, Zecilys resumed only when she positive there would be no one overhearing her secret. "Ceyx is sailor, a mighty good one might I add, and she ran off for a couple of days to wed him. Mother and Father were furious at her for doing this without their consent or letting them conceive of the knowledge beforehand but the whole house was in a turbulent and torrent pandemonium for her conjugal with someone of common blood." **_

"_**Is it really that bad?" **_

_**Zecilys nodded somberly, utter bitterness etched on her features as she frowned, immensely perturbed of her sister's bleak and uncongenial fate in the society of the regal and the nobles. **_

"_**She tries to hide her pain but I know how much she cries in the night, wishing to be by Ceyx again and far away from political and autocratic strife. I…don't blame her." **_

_**Prior to he could respond, the final, vociferous notes of the music filtered through them, fantastically splintering the tenebrous mood that was commencing to shroud over them like a black, mammoth, and gelatinous blanket of trepidation. Grasping her hands firmly, Ephraim carried her across the dance floor, savoring the closing proximity blazing between their closely nestled bodies. As the velocity of dance amplified and become rapider in the steps, Ephraim discovered himself once again gazing at her and her blossoming anatomy with much appetency. He meticulously surveyed how rosy her cheeks were now, flushed in taxation from the staccato, bouncing, and vivacious melody of the musical troupe. The way her breasts heaved in and out from exhaustion while her lungs battled to collect more air for stimulation captivated his mind, transmitting him to plunge into more libidinous thoughts and cravings. When the song ended and they were left standing, everything inside him seemed to whither away and die. He didn't want this to be over; he wanted to savor this serendipity while it lasts, imprint this contingency into his memory forevermore. He did not desire to leave Zecilys's body warmth just yet; he was becoming rather attached to the fervor. **_

_**Suddenly, as if to his rescue, the plucked strings of the lute player and the dulcet, lucid notes of the flute began sending ripples of another resonant ballad for the terpsichorean bevy scattered across the dancing floor. **_

"_**Do you want to have another dance?" the aqua-haired prince asked his dancing partner and a benign smile grazed her lips at his proffer. **_

"_**I'd be delighted." **_

_**

* * *

**_"_**I'd never thought I lived to see it." **_

_**King Fado directed his attention unto the speaker, who was in fact, Lord Hayden Rupert Melkbane, prime leader of the Melkbane House, home to the most prominent and superlative wyvern warriors, shamans, and summoners in all of Rausten. The unblinking, astute golden eyes pierced through King Fado's mental defenses, as if Lord Hayden was directly analyzing the Renais king's thoughts and emotions. **_

"_**What did you mean by that statement, Lord Hayden?" **_

_**Averting his gaze back to ballroom floor, Lord Hayden chuckled wryly, utilizing a hand to smooth a patch of unruly, messy turquoise hair on his scalp. "I was referring to witnessing my daughter Zecilys dancing with a young man, your son in particular. I never believed such an event would occur in my household." **_

_**Seth observed the amiable scene unfold as the two men deeply and impassionedly discussed about their tenure affairs, family members, and domestic situations they have previously faced. The quick-witted brunette paladin subsequently noticed Xais, one of Melkbane's prized trainers and wyvern generals, was standing diligently behind his liege, craftily scrutinizing the gaiety and bubbling mirth surrounding them.**_

"_**King Fado, for these past few days there is something private I have been wanting to address to you about," confessed Lord Hayden solemnly, abruptly replacing his genialness with a diplomatic and decisive attitude.**_

_**Curiosity washed over the Renais king's face, certainly intrigued in what his Rausten ally had to say. "Go on, I am listening." **_

_**Gesticulating to the terpsichorean forms of Ephraim and Zecilys, Lord Hayden commenced. "How old is your son exactly?"**_

_**Slightly puzzled on this bizarre and alarmingly out-of-the-blue question, King Fado complied anyway. "He's turning sixteen this upcoming April." Lord Hayden nodded, seemingly satisfied with this new bit of information.**_

"_**My good king, I have proposition to offer. I was wondering—" He paused to focus his attention back onto King Fado and not the twirling figure of his daughter and her dance partner. "I was wondering if you're at all interested in engaging your son Ephraim to my daughter Zecilys." **_

_**At this, King Fado glanced back at the whirling Ephraim and Zecilys, attempting to perceive the emotions his son was concealing from view. However, he managed to penetrate through the veil with much ease. After all, he **_**is**_** his father. **_

**Hm, he really does care for her. It could be love I'm seeing between them.**

_**Turning once more towards Lord Hayden, King Fado comprehended how Ephraim would react once he hears about the deal he would form with Zecilys's father. No matter how difficult he masks his emotions pertaining to her, the wise Renais king knew approximately that Ephraim would joyfully embrace this news and treat it as a blessing. Zecilys wouldn't be a bad match for him, they possessed an exceptional potential to become a truly loving and somewhat perfect couple. Lord Hayden would be pleased with his decision.**_

"_**I believe they would make an excellent match for each other, Lord Hayden. Although, I am a little bit shock in how soon you want Zecilys to be affianced. Isn't she fifteen?" **_

"_**Correct. However, I was thinking about waiting until she turns sixteen this October. I believe that is a suitable age for her to wed. Agreed?" **_

"_**Agreed. When Zecilys turns sixteen, we will announce the betrothal to my son Ephraim and your daughter Zecilys." **_

_**Lord Hayden broke into a smile, jubilance cascading all around him. "Of course. Two countries with unite from holy matrimony." He motioned to a servant carrying a tray of amontillado and he obliged dutifully. Lord Hayden firmly plucked two glasses off the tray and handed one to King Fado, who took the glass wholeheartedly, eager to try some amontillado. Seth helped himself to a glass–it had been awhile since the paladin had last tasted some of that rich, paradisiacal beverage–and the rectitude Xais followed his suit. **_

"_**Watch your glasses, Xais," forewarned the Melkbane head. In reply, Xais cocked a half-grin, tossed his head back and slugged the amontillado down like it was water. Xais's love of alcohol was well-known through out Rausten and in a couple of the neighboring nations. **_

_**Ignoring his right-hand man's drinking habit, Lord Hayden lifted his glass up as a toast and King Fado, Seth, and Xais (who obtained another glass from the servant) raised their own drinks in proper imitation. Xais appeared like he couldn't wait to quaff down his second drink of amontillado.**_

"_**To our children's future happiness, wealth, and prosperity." Lord Hayden toasted with pride. **_

"_**To our countries' alliance and a merry espousal for the upcoming couplet." answered King Fado with equal ebullience. The men took an pittance sip from their glasses–expect for Xais, who nearly swallowed the drink whole and was currently draining his glass dry–and resumed in watching the terpsichorean Zecilys and Ephraim amid the bustling and jolly cadre in the sumptuous ballroom of the Melkbane house. **_

Ephraim could hardly believe his ears.

"Are you saying, Seth," he began slowly, "that Zecilys and I were meant to be betrothed?!" The said paladin nodded affirmatively, his plastered, bland face akin to that of a statue's.

"Indeed."

Incredulous, Ephraim placed a hand on his head, desperately grasping the situation at hand. Why didn't his father inform him of this? "Then why was our troth never announced?"

"When October passed and it turned into November, King Fado grew worried and a messenger to question Lord Hayden's delay of the announcement. The messenger did not return and His Majesty never received word from Lord Hayden again."

Ephraim frowned perturbed by this most recent disturbing and shocking news. "By a perchance some dire predicament might have befallen the Melkbane House. Zecilys told me everything was going along fine—" He broke off, spotting the sorrowful yet suspicious look on Seth's stoic, strict visage. "What is it, Seth?"

Narrowing his eyes in a brooding manner, Seth paused to collect his thoughts and decide on what to tell his prince. He quickly contemplated to declare his ascertainment to this intricate puzzle. "I cannot be sure, Prince Ephraim, but I believe when Zecilys told you about her family…I think she fed you a lie or two."

The widths of Ephraim's eyes expanded considerably while his fair, unblemished features were aghast at this confounding assertion. "But why?" he inquired, shaking his head vigorously, "What purpose would that serve? Does she have something to hide?"

Surreal staidness replaced Seth's apathetic look. "Perhaps that's just it. Maybe she _does_ have something to hide."

Ephraim's eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. "But what?"

* * *

Howling wind sliced strenuously through the air, the heavy gusts swirling chaotically around her. As she battled against the tyrannical and onerous zephyr, the purple haired youth glanced timidly at the sky, watching haplessly as the sky rumbled and storm clouds commenced in rolling in and unfolding its formidable, obfuscating fingers around the sun and remaining blue sky, imprisoning the afternoon scene in its choking, cumulonimbus grasp. 

Much to the young wandering traveler's dismay, a shower of biting, bitter cold rain volleyed mercilessly upon her, its ruthless icy droplets tumultuously wrenching the warm barrier of her body heat from her skin, rendering her into a quivering, soaked, dejected mess.

_If only I had my dragon stone I could fly away from this wretched storm. By the looks of it, it's about to get worse. _

Trudging onward, the young girl sojourned through the heavy, torrent downpour, jumping ever so slightly or flinching immensely at the malignant, crackling dissonance of the lightning and the thunder's rattling, ear-splitting, ungodly roars.

Shoving floppy and sodden amethyst locks out of her round squinting eyes the preadolescent Manakete scanned the turbulent, ferocious vicinity engulfed in the unseemly ill-begotten paroxysm of Mother Nature. There was not a soul in sight, no one nearby to heed her pleas, the dire and urgent news she **had** to tell them immediately. With all haste!

"I have to go on," whispered the shy but unyielding girl, "the fate of many people depends on me…. There has to be _someone_ in sight, somewhere." Just as her resolve and hope began to evanesce, –along with her sapped strength–her keen Manakete senses instinctively picked up the presence of human beings a few leagues ahead. Not those unsightly, heinous fiends, the surreal servants of the Demon King, but **real** _human_ beings.

"Finally…it won't be long now. Soon, the truth will be known." the Manakete vowed quietly to herself and once more adamantly pressed herself through the raging, wrathful winds of the catalytic thunderstorm.

* * *

Whew! That was one hell of chapter, eh? Consider this one mammoth Christmas present from me to you all, you guys didn't have any issues with those pesky ribbons or stubborn wrapping paper and whatnot. 

Anyway, if you thought all whole lot was going on in this chapter, let me tell you dearies: it's only the beginning, just the tip of iceberg. Mind you, this chapter was going to contain more events to come but final battle in Renvall turned out much longer than expected. Then again, what can I say? I love writing combat scenes; they are my forte, my prime joy. When I write battles, I prefer and tend to go full-out.

Also, Seth and Ephraim's infused flashback was another example of section I wasn't expecting to be so dang long but I wanted include much information as possible–without permeating it too much– about Zecilys's family because it will important later on.

I had a bountiful to share with all you readers however all that I plan to insert in this chapter have been supplanted into two more impending chapters. So expect chapters twelve and thirteen to be coming soon.

Well, my assiduous readers and reviewers thank you for reading and I hope this thirty-paged chapter was well worth the wait. Reviews and critics are extremely welcomed and as for any would-be flamers (Hah, you thought I have forgotten all about you): Don't even attempt it.

Preview of the next chapter (this is only happening because I have the next chapter nearly ready):

"**You're not the monster you let everybody believe." **

He still was a beast.

"—_what she doesn't know can't hurt her."_

**How could he ever fall for a silly chit like ****her?**

"If you three spineless buffoons value your lives you will let her go,"

"_Sorry, fresh out of mercy."_

Since everything is all wrapped up, I bid you all adieu! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


	12. Twelve: This Is How Mother Irony Works

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. ValterxOCxEphraim

**Twelve: This Is How Mother Irony Works**

A/N: There's a quote from the movie _Ghost Rider_ (it can be found in my profile and in the preview of the previous chapter) so don't go screaming your head to me. The line doesn't belong to me, savvy?

**Knives91: **Good to see that you enjoyed last chapter, I had fun typing it all out. Thanks again for the review, I truly appreciate it.

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan: **Handy entities, those dictionaries? They and the thesauruses are two of my trusty tools. Anyway, about Zecilys's waking from her night terror, she vaguely remembers it, just not vividly. What occurred last night is all nebulous to her; this chapter will clear that up. Furthermore, about those two grammar mistakes of mine? Technically, they weren't on my file until I downloaded them to fanfiction and thought it would hilarious if they squish some of my words together (I fixed the errors despite all that). This betides to plenty of people, unfortunately. Yet, don't worry about correcting me on my grammar, I have a couple of friends who do it too so you're not alone. I don't mind it, really; your assistance benefits me and helps me to become a better writer as I go on.

Enough of my digressing; scroll down and enjoy chapter twelve!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Now, dearies, if I was in possession of the Sacred Stones do you really think I'd just let Valter, Selena, and Caellach die? Of course not. They're practically like my idols. …Sort of. **

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* * *

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"_I have to go on," whispered the shy but unyielding girl, "the fate of many people depends on me…. There has to be someone in sight, somewhere." Just as her resolve and hope began to evanesce, –along with her sapped strength–her keen Manakete senses instinctively picked up the presence of human beings a few leagues ahead. Not those unsightly, heinous fiends, the surreal servants of the Demon King, but __**real **_human_ beings. _

"_Finally…it won't be long now. Soon, the truth will be known." the Manakete vowed quietly to herself and once more adamantly pressed herself through the raging, wrathful winds of the catalytic thunderstorm. _

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* * *

**

"Souls made of fire and children of the sun,

With whom Revenge is virtue."**-Edward Young**, _The Revenge_

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* * *

**

"What in the blazes, you bloody damn wench!"

Menacing and irritated sable eyes glowered at the sole offender of his cherished, somnolent tranquility. Sparkling, mischievous golden eyes stared humorously back, a complacent grin twisting its way onto a sun-kissed visage. The owner of the mocking, eerie chortle held back any more laughter threatening to explode, suppressing the mirth struggling to break free.

"Good morning, General Mooncalf!" Zecilys chirped amiably, comprehending fully that her acted benevolence would vex Valter to the extreme. Just as she predicted, she received a death glare from the said wyvern general.

"What the hell was that for?!" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Zecilys sharply narrowed her eyes at him, preparing to defend herself at once–if the situation called for it, of course.

"Oh, I don't know," she remarked off-handedly, "I suppose maybe your wake-up call as something to do with this _book right here_?!" In mention of the erotica, Zecilys furiously gesticulates to the novel she already grew to despise in such a short time.

At mere sight of the novel he sent her, the Moonstone's ireful mood rapidly evaporated, replaced by a regaled, bantering one. His well-known smirk twisted itself onto his alabaster features, the humor in his simper simply blatant.

"Ah, yes, '_The Many Variant Methods of Erotica_'? It's a great book for some past-time reading." Valter remarked indifferently, ignoring Zecilys's seething expression or her fingernails digging deeply into the Tuscan red, leather-bound cover.

"How can you _even_ read filth like this?!" exclaimed the golden-eyed wyvern rider hotly, displeasure flaming all over her face. Valter shrugged his shoulders and casually got off her bed, covertly enjoying Zecilys's fury. She was akin to a landmine, waiting to explode and unleash her wrath and total annihilation unto the 'wrongdoers'. Such choler in a woman could be so appealing, not to mention entertaining.

"Contrary to popular opinion, that 'filth', dear Zecilys, is actually a well-respected, factual document of specific reactions in the human anatomy," he explained dryly. Zecilys snorted at this.

"Well-respected, my arse! Then why is the word 'erotica' in the damn title?!" she countered acidly. Valter frowned unpleasantly at her biased criticism and felt his annoyance rising.

"If you have read the bloody novel then you would have understood!" he retorted icily, sensing his temper rising. Honestly, would it kill her _just _to read the darn literature? _Hasn't she ever heard of the proverb 'never judge a book by its cover'?_

"Why should I?!" Zecilys snapped, now sorely tempted to throw the erotica at very man who driving her into this cut-throat, volatile debate. Inwardly, Valter counted to ten and then pinched the bridge of his nose, compressing his inner rage back down into its abysmal depths. _Is she always this unpleasant in the mornings?_

"So tell me," he began, restraining the lingering choler within him, "are you usually so disgruntled in the mornings or did having a night terror set you off?"

"I am not being disgrun— Wait, what about my night terror?"

Valter quirked an eyebrow at the demanding question, mostly expecting her to recall snippets of her unconscious rambling. "Surely you remember," he urged casually, surveying Zecilys closely and meticulously.

Zecilys knitted her turquoise eyebrows in frustration yet nodded. "Yes, I do but…did I say anything?"

The notorious, beleaguering smirk was back. "Try _screaming_, my dear." Zecilys's pupils dilated considerably.

"What did I say?!" she demanded, near panic edged in her voice. Valter's smirk widens even further, displaying two sets of pearly-white, perfectly shaped, canine-like teeth. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall in an apathetic, arrogant sort of fashion. He could have sworn he almost witness a vein pop in Zecilys's forehead. "I asked you a question!"

"And I chose not to respond." the wyvern general replied wittily, enjoying how this scene is unfolding immensely. Much to his delight Zecilys confronted him, the erotica still in her hand yet apparently forgotten.

"What did I say, Valter?" she implored fiercely, boring her gold, wildcat orbs into his savage, onyx ones, searching desperately for the answers she sought from him. Valter looked down at her with intrigue, strangely shocked that she actually referred to him by his actual name. Clearly, she really did want to know what she spoke of last night.

"Are you sure? You might not like it." he warned, deciding to resume in playing with her, if only for a little longer. His grim words did naught but bolster her resolve to hear what exactly happened last night. She nodded vigorously, silently prodding him to go on and reveal the events of yesterday night.

…Too bad that he didn't feel like it.

"Sorry, but I won't inform you." The ire returned on her visage once more.

"WHAT?!" she hollered, poised to spring and throttle the life out of him. Damn, her fingers just _itch_ to wrap themselves around his pale neck and force him to sorely regret those condescending, infuriating words!

"You heard me. I just don't think you're ready to hear them. First of all, you smite me with a novel while I was sleeping, and secondly, I offered you solace and you repay me in this fairly _thankless_ manner. I believe I'm rightfully inclined to deprive you of that vital information." Before she could cut in with a raging, boisterous protest, he held his hand up to silence any of her pending rebuttals or indignant pandemonium waiting in the wing. He then continued.

"However, if you be a good girl, I might grant your request."

Much to his displeasure and predication, in stormed Zecilys's argument. "Like hell you would! And for starters, I hit you in the face with this undignified book–that shouldn't have been _printed_ in the first place–because you sent me the hebetudinous erotica to irk me even further!"

Valter opened his mouth to contradict this ascertainment but she promptly waved him off, which somewhat nettled him.

"I'm not finished! To conclude," she paused briefly, piercing her condemning gaze unto the Moonstone, bitter incredulity etched onto her fair countenance, "since when have **you **ever offered **me **_solace_?" she sneered venomously.

She expected to receive another round of his formidable and deadly wrath, to face his secluded dark temper. She knew for certain that she crossed over the imaginary, figment line of his tolerance. She has done it not once, not twice, but thrice. With her miserable, wretched excuse for luck, a fourth time was probably on its way.

Yet once again, Fate proved her wrong.

Instead discharging his volatile fury unto her, he just cocked that egotistical, sinister smirk of his and with one arm reached out while advancing predatorily towards her. She took a step back but Valter was already upon her. His outreached arm instantly had their fingers gingerly wrapped around her chin and jaw, his hand in complete control of her head movements. Zecilys assayed to jerk her head back and relinquish his grip on her but her actions had no prevail. With his hand, the Moonstone guided her to him, snaking his free hand behind her back so her chances of escaping his hold would be minimized. When she was only inches from his body her eyes were gleaming maliciously at him, the gold pupils wishing to inflict incalculable damage on his mortal self. Conceiving he was in full control of the situation, Valter allowed a calloused thumb to affectionately stroke her cheek. Despite this act, Zecilys remained impassive, probably to maintain her cool and restrain her fiery ire threatening to explode.

"Last night, when you awoke from your night terror, you sought out for comfort, for _protection_. You pleaded to me for that very entity." Valter stated complacently, continuing to stroke her face with his thumb. Zecilys blanched and again, her amber pupils dilated in astonishment.

"Impossible…" she breathed, unable to fathom what Valter was revealing to her. Her…beseeching _Valter_, of all people, for consolation? What in the Demon's King name was going on with her?!

"Yet it happened." Valter said simply, "You made perfectly crystal clear that you wanted me to stay."

"What did I say?" questioned Zecilys tentatively, wary and partly fearful of the answer. From Valter's devilish grin and the mischievous, devious twinkle his coal eyes, she instinctively realized the news would bode ill for her.

Feigning a thoughtful expression on his visage, Valter pretended to be in deep contemplation and recollection. "Hmmm…let's see…ah, I believe I can recall the words now." He leaned forward to amplify the torrid tension and smothering suspense currently gripping the female's heart at the moment. "They were this: 'Don't go. Please, don't go. Don't leave me, like what the others did. I don't want to be alone again. I…might see them and I don't want to experience their deaths again. That dream…it seemed so genuine.' Once I complied to your pleading request, you uttered the words 'thank you' to me." He divertingly watched Zecilys's baffled expression on her face.

"Does that answer your inquiry?" In response, she groaned despairingly. Shockingly, the wyvern rider thudded her head gently against his shoulder, concealing her rather carmine countenance.

"You must be jesting," she mumbled, "how…?" Valter felt himself shrug indifferently.

"Don't ask me. How the hell should I know?"

Zecilys jerked her head back up, her gold, blazing orbs starting directly at him. Dubious, she chewed her bottom lip, wondering how to articulate her next assessment. "And you complied to my wish and remained at my side." she whispered, her voice nearly breathless. Valter nodded hesitantly yet kept his pallid visage an inscrutable mask when he spoke again.

"Yes," he conformed monotonously.

"But why?" she pressed, curiosity nagging.

"Because your hollers were clamorous enough to wake the dead and you told me if I was around with you, the night terror wouldn't return. Inasmuch, I needed a decent, good-night's sleep, so I obliged." That was the whole truth, not a single falsehood in any word. Yet…why did his words seem partially vacant, like he missed something? "Does that sate your curiosity?" Zecilys shook her head, a frown gracing her lips.

"But I don't understand. Why would someone like you even do _that_?"

_God's wounds, how am I supposed to reply to that inquiry? This is not shaping up to be my day. _

He opened his mouth to remark on her words but Zecilys did not bestow him a chance to verbally counterattack. "You could have easily lied to me and left the room, I wouldn't have notice your departure in my somnolent state."

"I didn't want to take the chance," lied Valter, relentlessly endeavoring to retain his stoic composure. Zecilys arched an eyebrow at his canard, semi-amusement flickering in her eyes.

"'Didn't want to take the chance'? Of what, me yelling again? What kind of excuse is that? You could just knock me out if I started up once more."

A menacing growl escaped his throat. "What's your point?" he hissed hostilely, aggravated by her perpetual obstinacy to question his motives.

"You're not the monster you let everybody believe."

A crack appears on his mask. A chink forms in his armor.

"Are you positive about that? What about all the times I threatened to rape you if you didn't provide with the information I wanted?"

Wry chortles slipped through her rosy full lips, befuddling the Moonstone even more with her bizarre sense of humor. "Back then I fell for the farce, but now I see through the smokescreen veil. Those threats were nothing but bluffs, to frightened me into submission and provoke me to spill all my secrets about Ephraim."

He is slowly losing grip of the façade he fastidiously constructed with his own two hands. He couldn't lose control. He **won't **lose control!

"Care to test that conjecture out?" Valter roughly pulled her to him, effectively eliminating all proximity between them. She stumbled slightly, her head brusquely colliding into his chest. He **must** have her under his thumb again, have her cowering in fear of what he could feasible execute, regardless if he truly was going to through with his words or not.

She couldn't get close to him, no one should. They just wouldn't understand. He wasn't _shaped_ to be understood.

In response, Zecilys flashed him a cocky, self-asserted grin that eerily mirrored his own trademark smirk. How could that infuriating, nosy minx maintain her self-confidence and feisty spirit with his deflowering threat (that really was a bluff but he wasn't planning on confirming her suspicions for her)?

"Care to carry out with your words?"

He wasn't going to and she knew it. So he just stood there, motionless, their eyes locked onto each other, one of his hands on her chin, the other resting on her back. From his failure to act upon his canards, sheer triumph blazed proudly in her golden pupils. The turquoise-haired warrior knew that she reigned as the victor in this round.

"I thought so." she said to him yet her statement was devoid of any boasting, smug self-satisfaction, or mocking emotions he anticipated she would convey. In fact, she sounded almost humble, laid-back a bit.

Wanting nothing more of this, Valter relinquished his hold over her but shoved the wyvern rider aside, just to show her that albeit he may not be a raper of women he was still a force to be reckon with. He still was a beast. Zecilys didn't utter a word of indignation when he thrust her aside; rather she appeared regaled by his actions. As he headed for the door and encased his hand over the doorknob, he heard her damningly enthralling voice.

"Why do you allow it?"

He grinded his teeth in frustration and rage and clenched his fingers in fists in self-animosity. "Allow what?" he snarled, not caring now how much his decorum slipped and Zecilys could finally see how much she sank herself into him. He could practically envision her half-smile when he enunciated the enquiry.

"Why do you allow people spread all those libels, all those flagrant misconceptions and hideous lies about you? Why don't you defend yourself against their fallacious, egregious accusations?"

Valter chuckled bitterly, acquiescent in permitting his mask to fall momentarily for her to see his long-hidden jaded and embittered expression from retrospection of his life in general. "In this world, everybody needs a good hero." He paused briefly, a satirical smile gracing his pale features. "And also, everybody needs a good villain. I just so happened to be a likely candidate for that particular role." He turned around to face Zecilys, who was shaking her head, her face expressing perplexed concern.

"How could they?" she murmured, mostly to herself than to him. Valter shrugged again, having to accept the political quagmire as his fate long ago.

"That's propaganda for you, dear Zecilys. We all do it."

Satisfied that he had the final say, the Moonstone briskly exited the room, leaving Zecilys alone in her chambers with her existing thoughts.

* * *

At last, after a week of heavy trudging and tedious sojourning, they had arrived at Castle Frelia. Allowing the bone-weary squadron to rest in their prepared and selected accommodations, Ephraim and Eirika met up with Tana who gave them an amiable welcome back–which was a nice change for them from the all the hectic, sleepless days of combat with enemy soldiers attempting to tear your throat out. The abrupt encounter with Innes was oddly refreshing as well. His curt, pompous appearance stood to show that some people didn't change, no matter how long the winds of time blew. 

A private council with King Hayden then ensued, with the twins laying down the facts they previously accumulated during their week travel from Renvall to the Castle Frelia. Seth and Forde–both of them insisted vehemently to accompany them to provide more explicated details of the perilous conundrum they face– thoroughly elaborated on what occurred on their separate routes. Seth and Eirika discussed their encounter with the grotesque henchmen of the Demon King, the augment quantity and byzantine dominance of the Grado forces during their jeopardous expeditions. After them, Ephraim and Forde gravely announce the loss of Kyle (only the two young men notices Seth was still in taciturn mourning over one of his knight-in-training's death albeit his face betrayed nothing), Orson's perfidy, and the unknown whereabouts of the last addition to their team, Zecilys. The Renais prince then introduced Myrrh–who they had the fortune of bumping into after their epic and stunning victory at Renvall–and her role in this foreboding whirl of chaos that presently is engulfing Magvel. Explaining concisely how she came to Grado and then prudently figured out what Emperor Vigarde was scheming: The destruction of the precious Sacred Stones.

Then the terror returned: Frelia's Sacred Stone was effaced by the Grado generals Caellach the Tiger Eye and Selena Fluorspar.

"_**The tower holding the Sacred Stone of Frelia…. It's been destroyed by the Grado Army!" **_

The urgent, earth-shattering news nearly rocked King Hayden's foundations; he seemed so dumbfounded, so horrified at the untimely obliteration of his vestige totem of sanctity. It was as if he himself could barely grasp the harsh message of reality pertaining to the heart-wrenching loss of his sole protection from those lurking, fiendish abominations ravaging Magvel currently.

"_**How could this happen…. How could I have allowed our Sacred Stone to be destroyed?" gasped King Hayden, casting his gaze onto the floor, the spiteful, gluttonous fingers of pain resolutely gripping and tightly squeezing his heart. "Dark energies from the empire's capital…. Evil monstrosities roaming our lands…Vigarde's mad invasion…. And now that, the destruction of our sacred talisman. And we have no idea of Grado's goals. We are in the dark times once again." **_

However, the king managed to pull himself together and decisively ordered for a plan of action to be assimilated. The stratagem eventually was molded out that Innes would journey to Jehanna to forge a truce with Queen Ismaire; Eirika would travel to Rausten (initially, the notion made his stomach lurch yet it was safest route out of all the sojourns for her to undertake); and he, would to take his band and strike the imperial capital to the west.

Now, the band that followed his twin sister Eirika was splitting up, a portion decided to continue in accompanying the young princess of Renais while the other half agreed to traipse along with him in his voyage to the Grado Keep. Eirika's group consisted of: Seth, –what a shock there– the Frelian Pegasus rider Vanessa, the monk Artur, the mighty warrior Garcia and his wayward son Ross, Moulder the Frelian healer, and Forde's baby brother Franz (Forde would miss his brother yet he felt reassured that his little brother would under Seth's incessant, vigilant watch).

With him was Forde of course (although he has this sneaky suspicion that Forde might be hatching some means of retribution against Orson), Natasha and Joshua–they were glued to the hip apparently–, the mage 'prodigy' Lute, the archer Neimi, her childhood pal Colm the thief, and lastly, silent Gilliam. Myrrh would also be tagging along but she was unable to fight, thanks to some immoral folk who snatched her dragonstone–which permits her to shapeshift at will–from her clutches.

Inside, Ephraim wholly knew he was heading to the Grado capital not just in hopes of ending this tragic war, but hopefully find Zecilys there. Since she wasn't contained in Renvall she _must _have been deported to the Grado Keep. The logic made perfect sense; it wouldn't be hard for the Grado officials to figure out how close she was to him.

He closed his eyes, his mind taking up the image of Zecilys, of her lengthy, wavy turquoise hair that he dreams to run his fingers through, of her gold, defying, adamant eyes that shone with so much fervor and spirit. He could picture her standing beside him; his lips claiming her sweet beckoning mouth…their bodies tightly pressed together in a frenzied, torrid manner…his fingers caressing her skin…his hands straying dangerously nigh to her breasts…her amorous gasps begging for more…Zecilys burying her head at the crook his neck—

"Ready to go, Prince Ephraim?"

Opening his cerulean eyes, the illusion of Zecilys evanescing rapidly into corners of his mind, he faced Forde who was looking at him jauntily.

"Still reminiscing about her, Ephraim?"

The said prince sighed heavily. "Every chance I get."

Forde smiled amusingly and slapped Ephraim on the back, invoking a small smile on his face. "Relax, Ephraim. We'll have her back in no time. None of those Grado dogs will be able to stand in your path." The scarlet garbed cavalier carried a roguish twinkle in his eyes, the impish smile never leaving his face. "You can be her knight-in-shining-armor!" he quipped and Ephraim glared unsavory at him.

"You know, if Zecilys heard you say that she'd smack you till your insides turned blue."

Forde shook his head, the gaiety and mirth still dancing across his visage. "On the contrary, Ephraim, she'd _kill _me. However—" He lazily twirled his steel sword that was on his person and sheathed the blade in its respectable scabbard. Glancing back at Ephraim, he kept his toothy grin for entertainment's sake.

"—what she doesn't know can't hurt her."

* * *

Irthos stared fixatedly at the sunset horizon, his amber orbs accumulating the butterscotch yellows, inky violets, mundane teals, poppy reds, and serene maroons strewn across the seemingly vacant, endless evening sky. He thought if he watched the sunset it will help take his mind off of _her_, assist in banishing her vexing presence from his state of mind. Unfortunately, his efforts were undoubtedly futile. 

He just continued to brood about _her._

How did it come to this? He has been traveling with her for approximately a week and three days and then, all of a sudden, he gains feelings for _her_?! How could he ever fall for a silly chit like _her_? None of this made any sense. And the gods know he is a logical, rational man. This inconceivable affection, this…infatuation, was _far_ from being either logical or rational for that matter.

_Hell's fires, either the gods or the Fates despise my very existence right now—_

"Irthos!"

—_Or both. Speak of the devil, it's_ her.

"Yes, L'Arachel," he drawled out curtly, replacing his troubled, contemplating visage with his usual expressionless one. What in the Demon King's name did _she_ want **now**?

"Up ahead, Halajune–the town that we're heading to–is hosting a festival. I've decided we should take a nice, little vacation from our righteous hunting and join in on the magnificent celebration! I heard Halajune has excellent sweets there!" exclaimed the princess of Rausten, her whole face glowing with jubilance and giddiness. Irthos just grunted to the news, not caring a bit. L'Arachel frowned disapprovingly; thoroughly displeased with the nonplussed reaction she received from him.

"Irthos," she began again, trying to obtain his undivided attention. Glancing at her dourly, Irthos grudgingly offered her a 'yes, what can I do for you?' look, albeit surprisingly enough his countenance manages to remain deadpanned. "Have you ever been to any festivities lately?" she asked sweetly but Irthos immediately detected the falsity in her honey-dipped words. It was a trap and she was fiercely determined to drag him into her snare of merriment and jovial.

"Not recently," he muttered between clenched teeth. Exuberance blossomed across L'Arachel's features and her chartreuse pupils brightly glimmered with naive joy.

"Then we'll have to fix that!" she declared theatrically, causing Irthos to roll his eyes. Frankly, must all her antics have to behave like **that**?

"You're coming to the festival, Irthos, rather you like it or not!"

Irthos instantaneously lost his vapid decorum. His amber orbs snapped open wide, resembling a pair of round golden coins. His body barely moved to act when she grabbed his arm and yanked him away from his secluded grove, practically hauling him along.

"Wait, wait, _I_ don't get a say in this?!"

"Nope!"

* * *

"Here we are!" chirped L'Arachel, "Halajune!" She surveyed all the decorations and stalls being set up for the reveling gala. "Hm, we must be here early. It's not even dark and the festival hasn't begun yet." 

"Brawahahaha! Punctual as always, L'Arachel!" Dozla proclaimed heartily, sweeping a lusting gaze upon the taverns and drinking pubs preparing themselves for the upcoming, massive influx of merrymakers. Irthos and Rennac exchanged glances, both men shaking their heads. In their opinions, this joyous occasion wouldn't be a picnic.

"I think I need a drink or two before this whole celebration starts," mumbled Rennac, desperately wishing to garner enough distance between him and the voyaging group prior to his employer becomes _too _intolerable for him to bear.

"Brawahahahahaha, I'll join you, Rennac! You will always have more fun when you got a drinking partner!" The lazy, reluctant rogue winced at the booming baritone of the Rausten berserker.

"Oh gods…save me."

Feeling a smidgen of sympathy for Rennac Irthos stepped forward to assist his traveling comrade. "Hey, I might join—" Unfortunately, he was precipitately interrupted by the female troubadour.

"No, wait, Irthos! You can't spend your time sitting in some musty old inn instead of enjoying the events of the festival!" she insisted vehemently, stringently tugging at the sleeves of his robe. The said druid quirked a navy-blue eyebrow at this manifesto, his incredulity evident.

"But nothing is opened," he countered smugly and L'Arachel faltered for a second. However, _only _for second.

"So?" she demanded feverishly, "That doesn't mean we cannot have fun! Come one, I'll show you around! I just remembered I've been here before and there are some places I want you to visit!" Ignoring the primitive of Irthos's vexed protests L'Arachel linked arms with the disgruntled druid and initiated her sight-seeing in rapid, erratic velocity.

"Lady L'Arachel, wait!" called out Dozla, alarmed by his princess's brisk departure with a grumpy Irthos. The beefy axe-wielder was about to follow them to insure her safety–and his nerves–when the unexpected betided. Rennac raised his arm out in front of him, halting his movements and efforts to trail after the two magicians.

"Don't." Rennac stated solemnly, "She wouldn't like it."

Dozla looked back in the direction Irthos and L'Arachel took. His eyebrow furrowed in deep concentration and puzzlement. "Why? We're suppose to be her guards and look after her—" Rennac snorted.

"Believe me; I have been watching how that man, Irthos, fights and let me tell you: We got nothing to worry about. No harm will befall the harpy–I mean, L'Arachel–while he's around her. His aura will just scare all the danger away." Dozla begrudgingly relaxed, still fixating his eyes at the road where the princess and her druid traipsed down moments ago.

"Are you sure, Rennac?" he questioned skeptically, eyes glued to the targeted path now crowded with bustling people. Rennac nodded, hoping his assurance would induce Dozla to leave L'Arachel be (apparently he was the only one who noticed the menacing 'don't you dare interfere' gander she cast upon them) and stimulate him to enter a saloon and buy a couple of drinks.

"Alright," Dozla capitulated, begrudgingly tearing himself away the street he was busy ogling at and then set his sights on the first bar that appeared in his peripheral vision, "let's get some drinks, I'm going to need a profusion of alcohol tonight." Entering a pub containing a polished oak sign with butter yellow words _Eagle's Nest_ crudely carved in the wood, Dozla materialized into the delightful, intoxicating splendor of music, laughter, and alcoholic beverages.

Sighing, the brunette rogue trailed behind him, wondering how long the druid Irthos would fare in sole company of L'Arachel, who was grating enough as it is with a myriad of others. Consequently, there was something he didn't mention to Dozla because he suspected berserker would really go berserk if he told him what he secretly witnessed between those two.

Brash and bold L'Arachel had fallen deeply in love with this enigmatic, erudite Irthos fellow. And what's more unfathomable, Rennac gathered that the druid harbored the same affections for her as well. …How was that even _plausible_?

_I've noticed all the subtle brushes and touches, the extra, sneaky glances, the uneasy tension between them on certain occasions, and all the other signs but still—_ He shook his head in disbelief.

"How can someone like him be insane enough to love a woman like _her_?"

* * *

"Oh, look, Irthos! Isn't that beautiful!" 

_Oh God's wounds, how in the hell did I get caught up in this?_

"Yes, it is, L'Arachel," he admitted dryly, trying to keep a straight face. L'Arachel paid him no mind and towed him around Halajune like a sack of potatoes, pointing out every marvelous sight or spectacle that caught her fancy. He tried to enjoy the festival, he truly did, but it was extremely and incredibly difficult to be jubilant when he was trying _not_ to fall for an eccentric woman who just was…was—

"Ooooooh, see that, Irthos? It's a fire-eater! I haven't seen one since I was fourteen!" L'Arachel exclaimed bubbly, pointing her finger at the said foreign man stuffing the inferno flames down his throat and then proceeding to regurgitate the mercurial fire out of his gullet. A thunder of applause followed his performance and fire-eater took a bow before resuming his amazing, unorthodox act.

"Impressive," commented Irthos, his tone of voice actually free from sarcasm for once. L'Arachel beamed luminously at him, emotions dancing high in her chartreuse orbs.

"I knew you'd approve!" she remarked ecstatically and of course, continued to heave him around the merry and rapturous gala.

…Yet he didn't mind so much any more.

As he listening to her frivolous but endearing chatter, a smirk grazed his lips but it could have almost counted as a smile. L'Arachel, she was…

…_perfect._

* * *

Oh, by the gods, how she _adores_ Irthos. 

Sure, it has been ten days or so yet they spend so much time on the road together. He was an enigma, a closed book with a chain secured around the cover and lock attached to the end. The lock needed a key and she wanted to be the very key that could open that stubborn lock, disintegrate those aggravating chains off the book's binding, and finally open the pages he guarded so closely with care.

She **loved **that man and with the gods as her witnesses, she is going to have him.

"I'm getting hungry, Irthos. Do you want to stop somewhere and eat?" she asked him politely, gazing back up at him. Zephyr blew around them, whirling through her curly yellow chartreuse locks and causes Irthos's black druid robes and his sweeping, long navy-blue hair to billow out majestically. The scene evoked such a breathtaking image that L'Arachel felt powerless and hapless all rolled into one.

_Pull yourself together, L'Arachel! He won't be attracted to you if you just stand there gawping at him like a fish!_

Irthos shrugged his shoulders but nodded. "Okay, I'm feeling a bit famished myself actually. Let's head over in there." he replied, tilting his head over to the saloon a couple of buildings down. The freshly painted sign reading _Wicked Comings_ in big, bold emerald green letters was lucidly visible from their view. She nodded, agreeing with his choice.

"Let's go."

This time, she didn't have to drag him by the arm around anymore. _This _time, he **escorted **her sublimely to the tavern _Wicked Comings _and gave her a seat first before settling down himself.

"What do you want, I'll go get our food," he said stoically. L'Arachel smiled sincerely at his generous offer.

"Why thank you, Irthos. That is very kind of you."

He snickered, and then waved her compliment off with a flick of his hand.

"Please, it's nothing. Just tell me what you desire and I'll deliver the order."

Quickly, she told him what she wanted: a mug of water–her throat was terribly parched–, a dozen of biscuits and dumplings, a handful of seafood, and lastly, an assortment of their finest sweets.

"Is that all?" he asked, noting her order down in his head. She nodded affirmatively.

"Yes, it is. I'm sorry if it's a lot." She laughed nervously, remembering how her uncle would chide her redundantly about her desire in food. Hey, it wasn't like she had serious eating problem, she just ate more than the other girls her age did! That wasn't awful or anything.

To her comment, Irthos snorted. "That's hardly a lot. It's not like your demanding a banquet or anything." His attentive golden eyes rested their gaze upon her, scrutinizing her whole being in such an analytical method that she somehow did not feel violated or uneasy at all. Perhaps this was due to the fact she simply felt comfortable in his presence. To her surprise, he leaned in so close that she could practically count his eyelashes. A visible simper curled on his lips.

"Frankly, there's a modicum of women who will actually eat the proper amount of nutrients and sustenance their bodies need to flourish and live. Be grateful that you are one of them." Continuing to smirk, he exited the table to order the food, temporarily leaving L'Arachel alone for the time being.

A mildly faint, pink-tinted blush worked its way across her countenance and L'Arachel found herself feeling giddy and tingly all over. He had been so nigh to her; his face was only an index finger away from her own—

She snorted in a very unladylike manner, mentally reprimanding herself for her overjoyed zaniness. _By the righteous light of the gods, I'm acting daft. This is absurd, what I am _thinking_ anyway?_

She could have spent the rest of her waiting time with her thoughts in serene silence if wasn't for a sweaty, tepid hand placing itself on her shoulder in sexually suggestive fashion. The hair on L'Arachel's neck instantly stood up on their ends and her heart pounded rapidly and consistently against her ribcage.

"Now," purred the stranger behind her, his hot, boozed breath blaring against her creamy, slender neck, "what's a lovely little lass like yourself sitting all alone in unfriendly place like this?"

* * *

"Yes, bartender, I would like two mugs of water, a dozen of biscuits and dumplings, some seafood, a loaf of bread, and lastly, a collection of your finest sweets." 

"Will that be all, sir?" Irthos shook his head, handing over the correct amount of gold to the senescent bartender who pocketed the coins and hollered the order over his shoulder. "Wait a few minutes, sir. Your meal will shortly arrive." the old man assured him and Irthos nodded automatically.

The bartender disappeared behind the scenes of the saloon and Irthos cast his sweeping gaze over the entire room, observing and studying the components in the grubby vicinity. Rudimentarily, the tavern was teeming with local drunks, philanders, a dearth of prostitutes, and other unpleasant or dangerous ilk. Really, could he have picked a better spot for him and L'Arachel to dine at?

_Speaking of her, she better be okay—_

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

Alarmed, golden pupils widen and forgetting about the upcoming dinner, the fickle druid propelled himself through the overflowing, intoxicated crowd, straight towards the direction he heard her scream. Her cry…it came from their table!

Perceiving the worst, Irthos brusquely squeezed through the remaining revelers and was able to asset the situation himself. There was L'Arachel, feebly trying to fend off three lechers with her healing staff. So far, she managed to cudgel one on the head yet the other two just wrestled the staff from her grasp and the apparent leader roughly pinned her to the wall off in the corner. Irthos snarled, a murderous expression shadowing his visage. There was not a chance in Hell he will allow some despicable, good-for-nothing swine sully her with their grubby little hands!

"Let go of me! You will be punished for the consequences of your horrendous crimes!" L'Arachel declared furiously, her chartreuse orbs blazing with wrathful, indignant fire. The leader guffawed unctuously and his two companions mimicked his actions.

"Listen, girlie, we've been doing this hundreds of times and no one has ever stopped us. You might as well shut up and use that pretty mouth of yours for more…_convenient _purposes." the leader sneered, sending her a lascivious look. L'Arachel blinked owlishly, unable to fathom to what he insinuated. Suddenly, the meaning dawned over her and she bristled, her whole face brimming with unparalleled rage.

"How dare you! That's absolutely disgusting!"

"Hey, Blondie, does it look like we bloody _care_?" snapped the man supporting a nasty, ruddy welt on his forehead, preferably the goon L'Arachel had whacked with her staff. "Hugh, just get it started already, I really want to teach this saucy harpy a lesson."

"**Not if I teach you three first." **

All three men whirled around, ominously facing their confronter. A pair of penetrating amber orbs narrowed hostilely at the opposing, filthy trio.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" jeered Hugh, the leader, still trapping L'Arachel with his body and arms. His two companions stepped in front of him, blocking Irthos's path to their leader.

"Irthos!" exclaimed L'Arachel, hope lighting up in her eyes. Sensing the familiarity between the two, Hugh enfolded the boisterous troubadour in a vicious vice grip. L'Arachel squirmed and assayed in kicking him in the shins but his grip on her was much too tight. Irthos folded his arms, his gold orbs spelling out pure ire and bloody comeuppance.

"If you three spineless buffoons value your lives you will let her go," Irthos stated monotonously, inching his dark tome closer to his side. Hugh snickered and his two cronies joined in the laughter.

"You and what army? It's three against one, pretty boy, and the odds are in my favor." Grinning inanely, Hugh gave a sloppy, taunting peck on L'Arachel forehead. "Hey, boys, the little vixen here sure tastes scrumptious." The two other men chuckled oily. Something unrecognizable darted in Irthos's eyes and expectedly, his calm, collected face returned.

"I don't need an army to kill you." he stated staidly and to prove his point, a caliginous, foreboding aura descended upon them. Crackling and deleterious dark power emanates off him, shrouding him in an inscrutable, verboten fog. L'Arachel reveled silently at Irthos's spectacular panoply; magic seemed to _radiate _off him. He was just simply…incredible–for a lack of a better word. Ignoring the confounded expressions and gaping mouths of his opponents, Irthos fixated his attention onto the lesser men, who were crouched protectively in front of their leader. A malignant sneer played mockingly on his lips as he amusingly surveyed the two men gulp conspicuously and futilely try to stand their ground.

_Such fools. I will blotch their pitiful presence from this world._

"Come and meet your demise," he incited, delivering a crescendo wave of Flux, then hurling the deleterious, sable vortex at the two men. The malevolent druid refused to give them a chance to defend themselves; they were swiftly disposed of by the smoldering, volatile magic. The blast collided into them so hard and quickly that the two unlucky men didn't even let loose a scream of detriment.

"Two down, one more to go," Irthos calculated coldly. He approached the leader, Hugh, whose eyes nearly popped out their sockets.

"It's n-n-not p-possible," he stuttered, bulging eyes never leaving Irthos's advancing form. Irthos chuckled darkly and humorlessly.

"Oh, but it is."

Like a creature from the netherworlds, he swooped in on them, ripping L'Arachel out of the lecherous man's arms and pushed her out of harm's way. Irthos then grabbed the man by the throat and belligerently shoved him up against the wall. The remorseless druid leveled his enraged pupils unto his doomed foe, who was sweating unconditionally and shaking like a leaf. His breathes were ragged and sporadic.

"Before I kill you, I'll let you in on a little secret," Irthos said softly, albeit the venom never left his words. Hugh swallowed his breath, too shell-shocked to respond. Irthos brought his face closer, until his mouth was only centimeters apart from his ear.

"Once a Melkbane sets his or her sights on someone they care about or love, _nothing_, and I mean _nothing,_ can stop them. We Melkbanes will go through fire, to Hell and back, shed blood, maim, and **kill** to protect those we cherish. You were unfortunate and stupid enough to incur the wrath of one."

The death-marked man painfully gasped for air, eyes watering. "M-mercy…." he rasped out. Irthos shook his head slowly, a sadistic smile creeping onto his smooth, handsome features.

"**Sorry, fresh out of mercy." **

With that, he projected his other arm forward, black energy swirling chaotically in his palm. The dark magic levitated off the palm and exploded right into the leader called Hugh's face.

A bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the bar, sending chills down all the occupants' spines. The death cry halted abruptly, signaling the Grim Reaper had wrenched the man's soul from its fleshy tomb.

Irthos turned to L'Arachel, who listlessly lied on the floor with her mouth opened wide. She stared at him in consternation, inching steadily towards him. He extended an arm to help her up and she wordlessly accepted it. The pragmatic druid hoisted her up and then, right into his arms. A stunned L'Arachel did naught but allow him to crash his alluring, seductive lips onto her full, tempting ones.

_At last...you're mine._

* * *

Halleluiah, chapter twelve is finished! Irthos was really something in this chapter; he truly opened up a can of whoopass. I needed to write another fight scene, no matter how tiny. A skirmish in a saloon is always intriguing enough. 

Hope you all liked the heighten relationships between Zecilys and Valter, and Irthos and L'Arachel. I enjoyed writing those, shockingly.

Prior to I completely transmute out, I would like to thank all you reviewers and readers for keeping on checking up on this story. Reviews are appreciated, they mean a lot to me, really. Flamers…use your imagination -grins demonically-.

In addition to this New Year's present, here's a slight preview of the impending chapter:

**Someone's head was going to roll. **

…Looks like she was just going have to wing it.

"_Find the children of Renais. Find them and take from them the bracelets that they wear."_

"**Be gentle with her, I don't want her breaking for the first time." **

He **loathed** Riev with every fiber of his being.

_However, what was more inconceivable was the fact that they weren't able to break away._


	13. Thirteen: Love Is an Angel Disguised As

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. ValterxOCxEphraim

**Thirteen: Love Is an Angel Disguised As Lust **

**Knives91:** Hell yeah, free-for-all! –clangs beer mug- Let's join in on the fray! Melees are such joys, not to mention major fun! Heh, glad that you thoroughly enjoyed the little tavern 'scuffle' at the end; Irthos was such a menace there. I certainly was having a ball with his onslaught against the three goons, they had it coming. Heh heh heh heh….

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan:** Ha ha, dearly love your support. Well, it was such a pleasure for me to write Valter and Zecilys's conversation, I like toying with the notion that society has somewhat smeared and spread libels about Valter, darkening his character. I'm mean, of course he'll have a weak spot, he's not invincible. Where would the gaiety be in that if our dear ole Moonstone didn't reveal his more 'humanistic' side once in awhile? …But that's just me: insane, dark, eccentric, etc, all the way.

You liked the other side of Irthos, eh? Happy to hear that. Like with Valter, I was aiming to show Irthos is not 100 percent evil or 'bad' and whatnot and show how L'Arachel influences him. This chapter will cover more of their relationship and seal the deal.

As for my following the storyline of the game…you might find the answers you seek in this chapter. I won't divulge exactly where I will tread upon; a straightforward answer will give away what might possibly happen and who Zecilys potentially ends up with in the end. Rudimentarily, I'm kind of fusing the game's storyline with my plots for future chapters together.

Now that I have finished responding to my loyal reviewers, I can cease my prattling and let you all read this new chapter (the title of this chapter is a lyric from "Because the Night" by the Patti Smith Group). One more manifesto: there will be a "lime" as some may call it, or as I'm dubbing it "sexual ardor" that will lead into sex or a "lemon"/smut (but I will not go into further detail. The sex scene is supplanted before anything 'passionate' occurs). Just wanted to issue that small warning out to all who are uncomfortable with that sort of scenarios. Commence!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics **_

**Disclaimer: If there are some chaps out there who _still_ are under the impression I own the Sacred Stones you might want to have your head examined. There's no profit for me in this, I'm just merely writing this story for my own entertainment and enjoyment. **

* * *

_A bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the bar, sending chills down all the occupants' spines. The death cry halted abruptly, signaling Death had wrenched the man's soul from its fleshy tomb. _

_Irthos turned to L'Arachel, who lied on the floor with her mouth opened wide. She stared at him in consternation, inching steadily towards him. He extended an arm to help her up and she wordlessly accepted it. The druid hoisted her up and then into his arms. A stunned L'Arachel did naught but allow him to crash his alluring, seductive lips onto her full, tempting ones. _

At last...you're mine.

* * *

"One sole desire, one passion now remains

To keep life's fever still within his veins,

Vengeance! Dire vengeance on the wretch who cast

O'er him an all he lov'd that ruinous beast."-**Thomas Moore**

* * *

"Are you still fuming about what happened at the Valni Tower?" 

Selena Fluorspar looked over to her traveling companion, Caellach the Tiger Eye. She caught the roguish, regaled glint in his eye and she turned her head away, her lips forming a taut, thin line. "No," she remarked succinctly, "why would I?" Caellach snorted.

"You seemed pretty agitated after our little controversy." Selena whirled her heard around again, her sapphire pupils flashing fiercely.

"And I shouldn't be? You affronted His Imperial Majesty!" she snapped at him, experiencing the urge to truculently shove her staff down his throat and spear that axe of his right up his—

"Hey, hey, calm yourself, lass. I meant nothing of it. I just wanted to test your loyalties to the Emperor." protested Caellach, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Selena narrowed her eyes at him dangerously, fervently wishing she could wipe that inane, haughty grin off that complacent visage of his!

"Next time, Caellach, if you have any more barbs about his Imperial Majesty…_hold your tongue_." the mage knight retorted icily, ending the unfavorable discussion firmly.

Chuckling, Caellach subdued his humor of her antics, oddly fascinated by her ardent fidelity to her emperor notwithstanding to all the exorbitant turmoil and disorient changes her liege had exerted.

"Such fealty is quite rare in this world," he muttered softly, catching her attention once more.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, albeit her voice was less severe and acrimonious. Caellach shrugged, assaying to appear casual and nonchalant.

"Oh, nothing. You just don't see many people willing to lay down their lives to their lord, no matter which path their liege strays."

Selena stared at him skeptically but nonetheless replied. "It is my sworn duty to serve His Imperial Majesty as his vassal."

Caellach quirked an eyebrow at this statement. "So it's required, then?" Selena shook her head vigorously, her rigid, glacial decorum lessening bit by bit.

"Yes and no. Swearing undying, faithful servitude is one thing, but actually meaning your oath completely and wholly is another. Acquiescing to sacrifice your life or just about anything for someone you cherish, is true loyalty, the type that cannot be bought or sold." She started directly at Caellach, squarely into his eyes, desiring to get her point lucidly across to him.

"It has to be _earned_."

The sole female general espied Caellach's intrigued expression and gradually allows her composure to relax slightly and relish the serenity permeating through the lush and abundantly verdant vicinity. Selena's mind was about to wander off when fervent, enticing breaths fanned sensationally against her neck. Goosebumps formed on her skin and she felt her heart pumping haphazardly by the tenfold and blood hammering relentlessly by her temples. Mastering her emotions in a typical, disciplined manner, Selena slowly turned to confront her assaulter with a stoic face on.

"Caellach—"

Her words were effectively cut off when his warm, promising lips amorously eclipsed over her parted, vulnerable ones. His arms encased her in a close, protective embrace, drawing her person to his chest. Paralyzed in shock Selena found herself unable to cease the kiss–unlike she _thought_ she could– and instead, her traitorous mind was busy focusing on the torrid, carnal proximity betwixt their bodies and the position Caellach's hands were strategically placed on her back.

_What does that…that man thinks he's doing?! This…is highly unacceptable! _

Finally unearthing her 'common sense', Selena managed to discontinue the kiss by jerking her head back. Prior to he could react or kiss her again, she planted her hands squarely on Caellach's pectorals and pushes herself brusquely from his seductive enfoldment. While he wore a triumphant, sniggering expression, she, on the other hand, was **livid**.

Someone's head was going to roll.

"_Caellach_…." she hissed venomously, infernal ire flaring over her fair features. The said hero responded with a cocky, satisfied grin. Inwardly, Selena slowly yet furiously counted to ten, her fingers _itching_ to either throttle him or incinerate him to a smoking crisp with her fulminating, parlous Elfire. Both options were exceptionally tempting—

"I knew I would like working with you," Caellach snickered, loftily delighted in her misfortunate distress. Indignant, she spread her arms in implied retaliation and began reciting the incantations to inflict a couple of unpleasant scorches on Caellach. Like quicksilver, the Tiger Eye's hands darted out, grasping her wrists before her motions could execute some serious damage on his mortal flesh. Predictably so, she resisted, trying to viciously yank herself out his hand but the grip was too obdurate. To burgeon the gelatinous tension hovering over them like a nebulous, ominous fog, Caellach predatorily leaned forward towards her, inducing Selena's tightly clasped hands to his chest, the region of his heart. Ignoring her protests and malicious threats, the hero general reached out to Selena's face and tucked a stray strand of her blonde hair out of those sparkling yet lethal lapis lazuli eyes and behind her ear. The Fluorspar halted her ranting abruptly, staring incredulous at the Tiger Eye.

"What was that for?!" she demanded.

Caellach smirked salaciously, powerful fingers furtively stroking the side of her face.

"Yes," he remarked devilishly, "I was right. I would have fun with you, lass."

* * *

_Oh dear Lord, where did they go?! I could have sworn_ _Ephraim and his band went in this _exact_ direction! _

The princess of Frelia sighed exasperatedly, instinctively soaking up her terrestrial surroundings. The Pegasus rider half-heartedly patted her Pegasus's neck in a gesture of assurance and security. Her Pegasus snorted and went back to chewing grass. Tana rubbed her temples, perturbed with the unfortunate quandary she faced

She was completely lost in Grado, in hostile territory. How was she supposed to help Ephraim out if she was running around in circles in the enemy's homeland?

"I can imagine what Innes would be saying if he saw this," Tana mumbled sourly, scowling at all the reprimanding her older brother could possibly give her, "A true, real princess does not sneak out the palace like some common criminal, she should blah, blah, blah. Can't he _hear _himself talk?"

Tightening the reins, Tana clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth twice and her mount's head obediently snapped up, ears twitching erratically. "Let's head in this direction, Boris. I think they went south."

Boris whined, and then snorted, tossing his silvery-white mane upward in a deigning manner. Tana frowned at her mount's reluctance to take flight and to stimulate him she concisely kicks his sides with her heels, hard. The Pegasus took the hint and condescendingly stretched out his unadulterated, snow-white wings, and launched himself into the sky.

_When the chance comes for me to upgrade class, I'm becoming a wyvern knight instead of a Falcoknight! This creature reminds me too much of Innes! _

Tana scanned the horizon ahead of her, then down at the vicinity and canopy below her. So far, there was no sign of any enemy opponents in the air, or lurking in the brushes, or hidden between the foliage—was that an **arrow** whizzing towards her?!

"What the—!" cried Tana, maneuvering her body around so the arrow would sail harmlessly past her. The arrow's tip barely brushed against her right shoulder and the Pegasus rider winced at the abrupt pain flickering in the injured region. "Where in the world did that attack come from?!"

The Frelian princess glanced back down and her eyes widen in shock. There, as if they just materialized from the thicket of trees, where her perpetrators, the onerous Grado troops!

"This can't be possible," moaned Tana, shaking her head incredulously. She weaved Boris in and out through the sky, praying that her erratic and intricate tactics would throw the archers off guard and hopefully goad them into giving up and leaving her alone. _Pffft, like _that_ will every happen._

Precipitately, dozens of more arrows spiraled directly at Tana, forcing her to enter a rapid descending from the sky to land. Lance in one hand and reins in the other, Tana braced herself for the impact as her Pegasus's hooves contacts the ground and cantered forward, fleeing skittishly from the adversaries behind them.

"You, rider! Halt!"

"Fat chance!" hollered Tana stridently, panic gripping her heart. She wasn't going to get caught, was she? She couldn't be used as a hostage like last time; that position had made her so helpless, so vulnerable, and she detested that!

_I won't give up! They'll have to be the ones to surrender first! _

"Get her, men! There's one of her and an excess of us! We can capture her! Cut her off, archers!"

Tana grinded her teeth in frustration, jerking the reins to the left and Boris obeyed immediately. Apparently he wanted to gain plenty of ground as possible away from the Grado soldiers as much as she did. The frightened Pegasus galloped staunchly down the unmarked trail, his herculean speed escalating. Tana felt her heart walloping dramatically inside her heart, the blood rushing spastically to her brain. She has to escape, she must elude her potential captors!

"I can do this, I can get through this," she muttered between bouts of breathes.

To her dismay, a band of Grado warriors sprung up from the vegetation encased around her, operating the ideal ambush against her. Despaired, Tana scoured all sides and with a heavy heart, realized she was completely surrounded. Gripping the reins to ease the tension fluttering in her stomach, Tana did her best to keep her chin high and portray a fearless façade. Controlling the fidgeting, she watched attentively as the leader of the rough cadre approached her, a confounded expression on his face. Several archers with behind him, ready to shoot on command. Inwardly, Tana gulped, intensely hoping she would survive this unsavory predicament.

"You, rider," barked the leader, "have been treading across Grado territory illegally!"

Stunned, Tana's eyebrows rose promptly at this startling announcement and frowned. _'Illegally'? What kind of blasphemy are they trying to pull? Then again, I _am _in enemy lands in times of war. _

"—suspicious activities around Fort Rigwald—"

_Uh, what _is_ he rambling about? He sounds like my father's chancellor…or worse, he's like Innes! _

"—surrender now or face the perilous consequences." finished the bombastic military commander, boring his caliginous, beady eyes into her violet blue ones.

_It's for certain, he _definitely_ reminds me of Innes. …Wasn't _one _of him enough? _

"You, woman! I demanded an answer from you and I want it now!" the aforementioned combater thundered, his face flushing beet red from impatience. Tana blinked, her mind whirling with apprehension in how to weasel herself out of this conundrum.

Should she just play dumb or scream out some fatuity to divert their attention or convince that she wasn't a threat, just a mindless dolt roaming the fields? _Ah, if only the Grado soldiers are_ that _stupid. …Now what would Innes do? Eh, that's easy, he'd stand and fight. Surrendering isn't even his vocabulary. _

She strenuously grasps her lance, slightly glancing left and right within in her peripheral vision. Okay, so she was surrounded and it would near impossible for her to evade this. She didn't possess her brother's strategic brain to formulate an efficient, precise battle plan. …Looks like she was just going have to wing it.

_Take a deep breath, push all your emotions down, clear your mind, and get ready. _

Without responding to the commander's question, Tana jutted her lance outward, the tip aiming straight at his forehead. The platoon leader bends backwards, swiftly dodges her onslaught. The regiment swarmed in on her and Tana urged Boris to fly back into the sky. Boris grunted yet flapped his wings to ward off any intruders daring to advance near them.

"Stop the damned flying horse, you maggots! And don't kill her, we need to interrogate her!" yelled the captain tersely, thoroughly vexed by Tana's impudent refusal to lay down her weapon.

Tana twirled the iron lance over her head, piercing or smacking any fighters dangerously nigh to her and her mount. Consequently, she didn't really kill any men, just either wounds them or bestows a rather nasty black eye on their precipitating, sordid countenance. "Come one, Boris!" she cried out, panicked as the soldiers closed in on her. "**Now** would be a good time to _fly_!" The said Pegasus ignored her badgering but commenced in taking off anyways. However, before Boris could even apply pressure on his hindquarters in order to accumulate enough pressure to propel himself and his rider outward, a myrmidon furtively landed on the mount's backside, right behind Tana. The Frelian princess didn't even know what hit her when the myrmidon accurately struck her on the head with his blade's pommel. Stupor overtaking her, Tana closed her eyes instantly, slouching forward on her winged steed. The myrmidon robotically hopped off the Pegasus, sheathing his sword.

"There you go, captain. Capture accomplished." he reported earnestly to the leader.

The captain pointed to the fallen, unconscious rider and charged, "Tie her up wrists up and secure her Pegasus. We don't either of them escaping when we take her to Commander Gheb."

* * *

_Another private council from Vigarde. This better be worthwhile. _

Valter apathetically scanned the five other generals beside him and then the two occupants by the throne. Selena and Caellach had just returned from their sojourn and by the looks of it, some contingency occurred between them. Selena shot Caellach a formidable, menacing glare and he replied with a complacent smirk and an amatory wink. He then mouthed something to her and much to the Moonstone's amazement, an extremely obscure but evident rosy hue emerged on the fair-haired magic knight's countenance. Valter nearly chortled out loud at this fortuitous sight, he never believe he would witness an event such as this!

Selena the Fluorspar was _blushing_ at something Caellach silently uttered. The color might have been faint but the flush was still there.

_I bet Caellach is reveling at her reaction. Just _what _happen between them?_

"The stone of Frelia has already been taken of…" drawled out Emperor Vigarde, ensnaring his generals' attention and shrouding the room in a verboten, immobilizing silence. "How is the Stone of Renais continues to elude us?"

Neither he nor any of the five other generals answered him, that course of action would be absolutely futile in this situation. The taciturn emperor resumed, nonplussed by the lack of response and life from his six generals.

"Glen. Duessel." he announced monotonously. The said palomino's head snapped forth in vigilant, undivided alert. The Obsidian kept his dark eyes fixated his lord diligently albeit he appeared perturbed. "Find the children of Renais. Find them and take from them the bracelets that they wear."

Emperor Vigarde motioned to wyvern lord. "Glen, take Eirika." He then pointed to Duessel. "Duessel, take Ephraim. Find them. Conquer them." Both assigned men bowed to their waist.

"Yes, Your Majesty…." Glen muttered to the floor, his mind adamantly fixed on his target. However, Duessel, on the other hand, had different plans.

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty…" he began, cautiously selecting his next words, "Now that you conquered Renais, what are your plans for her citizens? The country is in ruins. Thieves and bandits swagger about as if—" Vigarde's denouncing, abrasive mandate was more than enough to silence him.

"Leave them…."

His harsh statement stimulated Duessel to prod his impassive emperor further. "But sire—"

This time Selena was the one who interrupted him. "Sir Duessel," she pleaded, "the emperor has spoken. Please…." Sighing into capitulation, Duessel nodded and withdrew himself from the room, Glen departing with him. Their exit just left him, Selena, Riev, and Caellach.

Emperor Vigarde then resumed his list of orders. "Caellach. Riev." The two men looked at him compellingly, only Riev had a maniacal grin plastered on his sallow, putrescent visage. "Shatter the remaining Sacred Stones. Caellach, take Jehanna." A scowl replaced Caellach's supercilious grin, conspicuously displaying his contempt for his newest task for Grado.

"Riev, take Rausten. Go. Crush the Sacred Stones they house." Riev cackled stridently at the emperor's decree for him.

"Heh heh heh… As you will. I'll begin making arrangements for Rausten's downfall immediately…." In his moist, beady eyes, Valter detects a glimmer of an emotion that could be described as a vendetta. _What grudge does that revolting old codfish have against Rausten? …Eh, they probably kicked him out because he was so grotesque. _Valter mentally snickered at this thought.

"Bah! Why am I stuck with Jehanna? Accursed ill luck." Caellach complained gruffly, irked by the fact he would be returning to his native land. "I became mercenary to escape that wretched place and now I must go back?" He grudgingly followed Riev, who was heading to the doors. As he passed Selena, he stopped his pace, smiled smugly and once more, winked suggestively at her. Her countenance flamed up thus she managed to lose her composure. To show her displeasure, the mage knight grinded her heel straight on top of his toes. The hero winced and retracted his foot from her.

"Next time, I'll clout you." Valter heard her whisper lethally at him. Caellach's pained expression evaporated and a frolicsome beam took its place.

"Looking forward to it." he countered tantalizingly and she sent him a death glare as he exited the room after Riev. If looks could kill, there wouldn't be any trace left of Caellach.

"Selena."

The said magic general whirled her focus back to her emperor, complete devotion scintillating lucently in her teal blue orbs. Emperor Vigarde commenced in finishing his command for her. "Go to Frelia. Punish the Frelian army and their commander, Innes."

Selena nodded affirmatively. "Understood." Emperor Vigarde turned and set his gaze onto Valter, the last to receive his imperial stint.

"Valter." The Moonstone acknowledged Vigarde's call by lazily arching an eyebrow, a semi-bored expression etched on his alabaster features. "Remain here in the capital. We shall have new orders for you shortly." Valter titled his head in compliance, eager for this meeting to be down and over with.

"Alright, but they better be fun." _If he charges me in defense of the castle I swear I'll have someone's head. _

Copying the other four generals' antics, Valter and Selena exited the throne room, off to complete their next assignment.

Valter just hoped his upcoming task wouldn't be such a bore, the adrenaline and blood rushing wildly through his veins was practically overwhelming. He needed some excitement, a challenge, something intriguing!

Later, he would realize, that the entities he craved for solely pointed to a certain golden-eyed, turquoise haired wyvern rider who he has taken an unparallel fascination with. And later on, he will realize how much Zecilys would be entwined with his life and also, how his fascination for her would become immensely stronger…with each passing day.

* * *

"Commander Gheb!" 

A corpulent, repugnant man who remarkably resembled a blanching slug lethargically turned himself around to face the spoken man. "Eh, what?" Gheb droned out, staring down at the soldier like he was an insect.

"We captured a Pegasus rider snooping about outside!" exclaimed the soldier, roughly hauling out his captive out from the secure hold of the other two fighters accompanying him and presented her in front Gheb. Much to his vexation, the corralled Pegasus rider resisted resolutely.

"Let me go! Stop it! That hurts!" she cried out hotly, delivering scathing glowers at her captor. Her bright violet blue eyes permeated with sheer indignation as she spoke those words with much passion. Gheb whistled at the unexpected appearance of this ultramarine blue haired belle. She may be supporting a rather disheveled look but her radiant beauty continued to ignite through all the muck, grim, and sweat.

"Ooooh…you didn't tell me she was such a treat for the eyes. Heh heh…this is prize worth catching." Gheb said crudely, undressing her armored form with his eyes. The Pegasus rider squirmed convulsively under his lecherous scrutiny, terror flashing across her comely visage.

"I-I came for Ephraim," she explained shakily, but some spark within her induce her courage and she regained her fiery spirit. "If you do anything to me, he will not be merciful." she finished with fulminating fire. Her forewarning words only served to rouse a creepy, regaled laughter from the repulsive commander of Fort Rigwald.

"Heh heh…I like her. Throw her in a cell. I'll spend the evening giving her a thorough interrogation (he gave her a promising wink). Heh heh…."

The rider's mouth dropped open in horror and abhorrence. "You b-beast!"

Gheb's grating guffaw echoed portentously in her ears, broking ill will for the princess of Frelia.

* * *

Ephraim surveyed the imposing vicinity before him, meticulously noting where his men–and women–were located and ultimately prepared to attack Fort Rigwald. Forde, on his right, erstwhile had his lance drawn and the dogma ostensibly conveyed in his hazel pupils. Ephraim turned to his long-time companion, the lone survivor of his paucity of warriors. Kyle was deceased, Orson had betrayed them, and Zecilys was somewhere in the unknown. Forde was all that was left of his previous team. 

"Are you ready, Forde?" Ephraim asked sincerely and Forde offered him a reassuring smile.

"As long as I'm under your command, my prince." he answered and Ephraim returned the smile, though it felt forced and out of place.

"We cannot afford to wait here for much longer. We must take this fort and then press on to the capital itself." He directed his attention to the rest of his platoon and issued his decree for the besiegement.

"Let's go!"

* * *

"Valter, a moment with you." 

The said wyvern knight glanced over his shoulder and espied Prince Lyon who stood in the darkest corner of the hallway, torchlight casting a rather unearthly glow over his pale, sickly visage. "Is this referring to my orders for the castle?" he questioned, approaching the dark magic wielder. Prince Lyon nodded earnestly.

"Yes," he said demurely, "but it's concerns a specific person in our clutches, Valter."

Valter arched one ebony eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Who would that be exactly?" _If I had to make a wild guess on which person my next task might be centered on I think I know who this is pertaining to. _

"Riev told me all about this wyvern rider, Zecilys, and the Reaper's Mark she bears."

_Bingo, I was correct._

Remembering the ghastly, ill-begotten scar, Valter attempted to perceive what his mission was truly about. "Yeah, so?" Prince Lyon smiled kindly at him yet the compassion laced within was awkward, automatic…almost like it was fake.

Valter snorted inwardly. That's because it _was_ fake. His sincere gratitude and sympathy is a ploy, an elaborated hoax to hoodwink those ignorant of his grand, sinister schemes. He was one of the very few people who knew about the monster that lurked beneath that thin veneer of human skin.

"Valter, I want you to test this woman's power out…to see how much strength the Reaper's Mark grants her. If what the tales say is true…we could have an extremely formidable warrior amid us. She would be a most invaluable asset to our ranks." Prince Lyon explained analytically but the Moonstone was aware of who _really _was doing the talking.

It wasn't Lyon who wanted Zecilys tested out, it was the Demon King. He possessed everything of Lyon: his body, his thoughts, his recently "resurrected" father, his country, and most vitally, his soul. The Demon King controlled Lyon like he was a little marionette dancing on his strings, obeying each and every whim.

"Sure, I'll be delighted to." he replied crisply, removing himself from Prince Lyon's presence. If the Grado prince's "ailment" appears again and he began undergoing his neurotic spasms, then he absolutely **did not** want to be around to witness such an unsavory scene. Besides, who would even want to talk with the Demon King–save for putrid Riev–, anyways?

"Oh, and Valter," called out Prince Lyon and Valter halted in his tracks.

"Yes?" he answered, wondering irritably what the cumbersome fiend wanted done _now_.

"Be gentle with her, I don't want her breaking for the first time."

Smirking, Valter waved his hand up to show he wholly understood. "Don't worry; I won't be _too_ hard on her." _She's a lot tougher than you think, Demon King._

* * *

Alright, so she is reading the damn erotica book, _The Many Variant Methods of Erotica_ for about eight days. In her defense, she was incredibly and exorbitantly bored and counting the cracks on the floor wasn't as time-consuming as one thought. 

_Well, since Valter probably learned some beneficial facts from this novel_–_which would explain how he's an expert in arousing females_–_and can perceive my physical weaknesses then it's high time I should do the same. If _I _can figure out _his _weakness and what certain moves entice him…then I can shut him up once and for all and make him rue the day he delivered this hebetudinous book to me!_

Precipitately, there was a vociferous knock on the door, causing Zecilys to jump nearly out her skin (she was **that **engrossed in her reading) and shoved _The Many Variant Methods of Erotica_ underneath the covers of her bed. "Is it lunch already?" she called out, wondering what time it was. The door creaked open and in came her visitor.

"No, unless I'm on the menu."

_Now, why, for some reason, does that phrase sound…dirty?_

Zecilys swiftly collected and pieced back her cool, strong-willed decorum, refusing to be flustered or caught off guard by him. "What brings you here today, Valter?" It was weird that she was referring him to his given name now instead of 'General Mooncalf' yet for an even more eccentric reason, she didn't mind it so much. It established some sort of truce, a foundation between them. Sometimes, she subtly receives the vibe from him that they weren't captor and captive any more.

"Orders, Zecilys." Anxiety exploded in her stomach but she quickly squashed them down.

"What are they?" she question simply, attempting not to sound curious. Unfortunately for her, Valter the Moonstone was unusually perceptive and easily deciphered her brisk, so-called 'uninterested' tenor. He approached her casually, no ill will or concupiscence intentions in his saunter.

"We will be sparing outside, in the Grado training grounds," he manifested matter-of-factly to her. Zecilys blinked momentarily.

"Wait, wait…say what?!" This was _not_ what she expected the order to be. The mandate seemed rather…harmless.

Valter sighed, exasperated. "The Emperor wishes for you remain in top condition. He wants you up to par in case…of any emergencies." The puzzled expression remained on Zecilys's face.

"But why would he want that?"

_Because the Demon King wants to know how the Reaper's Mark affects your strength and combat skills in general. _

"Because he believes you are still of value to him." Valter lied, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the aggravation bubbling inside of him. He cast her look that clearly stated 'please stop asking questions, I am not in the mood'. In reality, he wasn't in a sour mood, he just simply couldn't hand her the answers. She couldn't know that she had the legendary and notorious Demon King intrigued with her supernatural "gift", for lack of a better word.

Zecilys cocked both eyebrows, lucidly conveying she didn't wholly buy his canard but went along with it. "Okay, so you're saying I get to go outside?" she asked eagerly, her gold orbs shining with exultation. The Moonstone nodded and she let out a triumphant cry. "Finally, I get stretch out my muscles! I was afraid I was getting rusty."

"After about thirteen days?" bantered Valter and a withering gander was sent in his direction. "Are you ready, then?" She nodded fervently, her visage portraying bottomless enthusiasm.

"I'll enjoy landing a couple of hits on you, Valter."

This earned her an entertained laugh from the wyvern general. "Do you really think you can even _touch_ me?" In a gesture of impudence and defiance, Zecilys jutted her chin up haughtily yet her condescending veneer was marred by the mischievous gleam in her eyes. Valter chuckled at her risible attempt to appear arrogant.

"Time for you to get off that high horse, Valter, because I'm here to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours."

He snorted incredulously, highly amused at her level of confidence. "Dare to dream, Zecilys. Dare to dream."

* * *

Raking his fingers through his navy blue tresses, Irthos sighed in contemplation, and in despair. What on earth was he _thinking _when he kissed her like that? Establishing his claim over her in front of a myriad of merry goers at that dingy little pub? Yes, he wanted her then but now…after he brood about the situation at hand, this romance couldn't feasibly happen. Why is that so? The facts were so very simple. 

She was a princess, the prized star and glory of Rausten. She continued the righteous work of her dead parents, exterminating monsters in their name. She might have been attracted to all the fame and attention but he could extract that subtle generosity and warmth secluded within her.

And he? He worked for Grado, the very country that coercive this pointless war against all the other countries. He was a kinslayer, because of his weakness and inability to maintain control, countless of people close to him perished. Engulfed by the solitary embrace of darkness, he lives with the knowledge how tainted he was, how much he wallows in his sins, and how blackened his soul was.

However, she was pure, unadulterated, a beacon of light proffering guidance to those who required her support. She was a ray of sunshine while he was winter's frost. She was the light, the redemption he sought longingly for yet dourly realized he could never have it.

No, he couldn't risk it. If he did, that…**monster** that ruined his life three years ago, when he was fifteen, might rear its ugly head and take control again. Irthos didn't desire another repeat of the Melkbane Massacre.

_Then again, there were two monsters that destroyed my former life, not one. _

"Irthos?"

Hearing the voice of his beloved, Irthos lifted his head up to answer. "Yes, L'Arachel?" She entered his room (after the incident in _Wicked Comings_ they decided to rent a few rooms at a local, respectable inn), inspecting him dubiously.

"Irthos, about what happened—"

"Forget about it."

His cold, brusque, and harsh statement threw L'Arachel off, her chartreuse pupils dilating for a fraction of second. "P-pardon?"

Irthos turned his head away, detesting what he was going to do. "You heard me. Forget about what happened in that saloon. Pretend that it never occurred." This was essential; he had to protect her from **them**, from himself. She would be better off without him.

Instead of stammering or appearing dejected, his toneless denial just ignited a burning fire cached inside L'Arachel. Her countenance flared with irate choler, boiling convulsively in her blood.

"How dare you utter such hogwash like _that_?" she screeched, "How dare you tell me to forget what occurred between us yesterday?!" Irthos made a motion to protest but she cut him off with her steaming, smothering glare. She then continued her rant.

"I don't know what's got into you today but don't you **dare** act like that kiss meant nothing to you! It meant a whole lot to me and I know for certain you felt the same way!"

Irthos winced at frequency of her voice, regrettably noting how her reprimanding was transforming into a crescendo. Lovely, all his plans were going straight to Hell.

L'Arachel stared inscrutably at him, as if she was trying to decode and penetrate through his staid and near emotionless façade. She approached him quietly and sat down on his bed next to him, a forlorn aspect on her agitated visage.

"Why are you trying to push me away, Irthos?" she whispered deploringly, losing all her fury and frustration she demonstrated a couple of moments ago. Irthos sighed sorrowfully, loathing how he hurt her so. However, would she ever want to be with a man like him?

"Are you…sure want to be evolved with someone like me?" he question sharply, narrowing his amber orbs piercingly at her form. A half-smile graced her lips and she bobbled her head candidly.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, trying to keep the smile on her face. Irthos closed his eyes in despair, leaning back onto the bed which offered him little comfort. He couldn't fully conceive _why_ he's going to tell her, but then again, since yesterday, his mind has been off the irrational end lately.

"Let's commence with the fact that I'm from Grado," he began, opening his eyes to analyze her reactions to his confession. She did not stirred, only had an amused beam on her face.

"Is that why you're afraid to be with me? Because we're from different nations?" Shaking his head, Irthos renewed his divulgence.

"No, there's more. I _work_ for Grado. I was assigned to obtain some archaic relics however when I encountered you…" Irthos swallowed his breath, immensely not enjoying what he would have to reveal next, "…when I encountered you, I realized how pleased my teacher would be if…I was able to scrap some information from you about Rausten that could lead to its downfall."

Pregnant silence greeted his astounding admission and Irthos closed his eyes once more, waiting for the condemning words of fury and despisal.

"But I never told you anything like that."

Wearily, Irthos nodded. "I know." He could almost _hear_ her fidgeting; trying to comprehend everything he was informing her.

"Irthos…if I _did_ share you something confidential, would you…have it reported?" Her voice vacillated constantly, trepidation edged in her words. The said druid slowly opened his eyes, willing himself to stare upon the young woman who managed to ensnare his heart.

"No, I wouldn't have." he answered frankly, apprehending in the long run, he would never tell 'Teacher' Riev a single thing. He pretended to be dutiful, assayed to enjoy pleasing him like a typical pupil would do with his teacher but Riev was different. Because of Riev, Irthos didn't have a family anymore and was no longer…himself. No longer _human_.

He **loathed** Riev with every fiber of his being.

Suddenly, something soft was pressed up against his lips, shattering his spiteful reverie. His eyes popped open, witnessing L'Arachel on top of him, arms around his chest, and of course, she was kissing him. Sensing she had his attention, the troubadour pulled away, supporting an impish grin.

"Why?" he rasped out, unable to grasp why she would absolve him so. "I have shed the blood of innocents and committed so many sins I don't believe that can ever be forgiven. How can you afford to love me?" L'Arachel let out a tinkling, melodious laughter, reminding him of tolling church bells.

"Because I fell in love for whom you are, Irthos. You might not believe so, but I think there's still a chance for redemption for you." Her amiable smile widens and she affectionately kissed his brow. "So, please, let me assist. Let me heal your wounds."

Irthos sighed, slipping into submission. "L'Arachel, I would accept yet…."

"Yet what?"

Irthos gazed at her mournfully, pondering why he was revealing his hidden talent to her. "Before this war is over, I will be dead. I've seen it and I have sensed it's coming soon."

L'Arachel laughed nervously at this ascertainment. "_Seen_ it? What do you have, premonitions?"

"Precisely."

L'Arachel's anxious laughter died instantaneously. "R-really? H-how?" she question, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. Irthos opted to give her little explanation about his 'gift'.

"Ever since I was just a small child, I received these nebulous yet authentic prognostics. I could alter the future and it would come out differently in the end. However, sometimes—" He paused to stroke her cheek, fully knowing how heart-breaking his next words will be to L'Arachel.

"—you can't change the future, no matter how hard you try."

A tear slithered down her face and she hastily whipped it away. "H-have you truly seen i-it?" she asked, voice quivering.

"The death scene is hazy but yes, I have. I don't know who kills me and why, yet I do die." L'Arachel hiccupped, more tears streaming down her face. Cradling her in his arms, he uttered sweet and mollifying phrases into her ears, hoping she would eventually calm down and recover from the fact he would die during this war. "I have come to accept it," he whispered serenely to her and she quickly glanced up from sobbing into his shirt.

"_But I can't!_" she cried, pure devastation emanating off her. "How can I accept the matter that you will die when I love you so much, Irthos?!"

"I love you, too," he confessed, brushing another stray tear from her cheek. L'Arachel beamed rapturously, the luminance gradually emerging back into those bedazzling chartreuse orbs of hers.

"Really?" He smirked and the broken smile was repaired.

"Really."

To his surprise, the crystalline droplets stopped coming and L'Arachel rubbed her eyes dry of any lingering tears threatening to appear. Vivacity and confidence restored, she looked at with newfound resolve.

"When do you have to leave? You know, to get those relics you mention earlier?" she asked and Irthos frowned in forethought. If Riev desired to have his family artifacts as soon as possible then he would have depart soon and travel to the Melkbane Manor which means—

"Tomorrow." The foreboding, harrowing curtain of reality washed over the lovers, churning up the grief gluttonously corroding at their very core. Minutes passed by and they said nothing to each other, both wondering how they could make this day count. After what seemed like hours, L'Arachel turned to Irthos and what she uttered next practically rattled his foundations.

"Make love to me."

When he heard this, Irthos felt like he could have been knocked over with a feather. "L'Arachel, what are you saying?!" L'Arachel smiled sadly at him, brushing a lock of his hair aside from his face.

"Listen to me, Irthos. This will be the last day I will have with you and I want it to be special. I want this moment to last forever, to be imprinted, engraved into my mind until the day I die." She trailed her hands down his shoulders, boring her entreating eyes into his own. "So, if we are destined to never see each other again, I want this day to be a time of bliss, of love and passion. I don't **care** one bit if this isn't proper or modest behavior for someone of my status because I love you too much to even care about the etiquettes of princess!"

Now, all of sudden, _she _was the one on the bed, and _Irthos_ was on top of her, with an inane, lewd grin on his visage.

"I'm convinced." was his seductive reply and L'Arachel bubbled with jubilance. This was happening, this was actually happening!

Irthos nibbled carnally at her neck and she trembled giddily, encircling her arms around his torso, pressing him closer to her body. He complied, trailing butterfly kisses up and down her exposed neck and shoulders. Consumed by the ardor, L'Arachel struggled to ripe his robes from his body while they kissed, tongues in a feverous, amorous coalesce. Eventually, the sable robes slipped off, leaving him a plain white shirt and black trousers. Her long, 'dress vest' (as she calls it) was fervidly peeled away by Irthos's nimble fingers, allowing him more access to her skin.

Furiously attentive to her needs, Irthos tenderly kissed and caressed her skin, evoking moans of ardor from her lips. L'Arachel ecstatically played with his long, navy blue hair, deeply enamored by how his aspiring gold eyes were slaked with lust and affection. All for her. Just for her.

Soon, one by one, they violently yet wantonly shed away each other clothes till they were bare and nude as newborn infants. Prurient blazing abundantly in his golden pupils, he gazed raptly and hungrily at the young woman lying naked before him. She silently begged for him to commence, to hurry up and get inside of her.

"Are you ready?" He really shouldn't have asked, he knew what the reply was.

An imploring nod and then a subsequent: "Do it."

* * *

Ragged pants escaped her currently deprived lungs and she focused grimly on the man in front of her, lance impetuously drawn. Alright, so Valter wasn't named a general for nothing. She should have fathomed that. 

To be candid, he was uncannily _phenomenal_ with a lance. His skill and movements were so flawless and effortless. Each move, each hit, was precise, concise, and strategic. Frequently he would predict her motives and conquer her before she even had the opportunity to execute her stratagem out fully. Or, when he felt like playing with her, he'd permit her to initiate her plot and then counterattack in such an august, dexterous way that his assault rendered her speechless. If that wasn't enough, Valter never seemed to tire. He was always prepared for another round, barely even sweating or breathing heavily. His body must be in incredible condition, his level of fitness was exactly what her past instructor Xais had preached about!

_Xais, if you're watching this, I bet you're dancing with joy…providing if you're not intoxicated via all the drinks first. _

Seeing a jab coming her way, Zecilys twisted her body around intricately and the point of the lance sailed by, missing her completely.

"Nice dodge," commented Valter casually. An impression within Zecilys glowed exuberantly. The ambiguous feeling was akin to when strict Xais would compliment her after succeeding in a skill, or improved one of her lacking ones, or simply just executed some task that pleased him. A compliment from Valter–of all people–was an entity to behold.

Resolute to perform much better than her previous bouts, Zecilys lunged forward and then attacked, deciding she has enough being on the defensive. Her offensive strike compelled the Moonstone to retreat albeit he enjoyed her sporadic aggressiveness. Here, on the training grounds, was where he could at last witness her ferocity, her adamant to drive herself to the limits. No matter how much more experienced he was compared to her she would viciously continue to fight against him, never quitting until she drops from sheer fatigue. Like Tirado had once mentioned to him, Zecilys is a lethal beauty. One false move and it could very well be your last. He could sense a potential equal if she every upgraded her basic wyvern rider class to wyvern knight, providing if she chooses the route to exceed exceptionally in the art of wielding the lance.

_Heh, she's getting better with every round. I was right to choose her as my prey. _

He blocked her thrust with his lance and with his physically strength, he shoved her backwards, causing her to stumble. Regaining her footage before she fell smack down on her butt, Zecilys whirled her lance in front her to negate Valter's rushing onset. Once more, they were locked into a tedious stalemate but both contestants fathomed who the victor would be.

Immediately detecting a small opening, Valter shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and then brutally whacked the side of his lance against her side. On instinct, Zecilys recoiled from the brief pain, bestowing him the whole opening he was vying for. Advancing rapidly and belligerently, Valter cornered her and then feigned to her right. Her lance swiftly maneuvered to her right but when she perceived his true intentions, it was all too late. Erstwhile his lance's point had reached its goal and was leveled perfectly at the center of her heart.

"Looks like I'm the victor again." he announced. Zecilys frowned, irked she couldn't obtained a least _one _win from Valter. _Next time I'll just have try harder! _

She attempted to take a step forward and start another practice match–however she noticed a little too late that her legs weren't acquiescent to cooperate. From all the grueling, non-stop sparing her body was excessively weary and calling it a day, while she was still wanted to exercise more and more. Zecilys would have fallen flat on her face if it weren't for a pair of powerful, potent arms wrapped themselves around her waist, halting her fall. Her head thudded softly against the steel armor of the wyvern knight. Shocked by this unexpected act, Zecilys looked up at the supposedly nefarious Moonstone who just prevented her from falling.

"Uh, thanks, Valter." Zecilys thanked him dubiously, consciously aware how nigh their bodies were, how many inches apart their faces were. His onyx eyes stared questioningly at her and abruptly, Zecilys felt her cheeks enflaming and the same passionate fire Valter had awaken so many days ago returned, and the fervor is burning stronger than ever.

"No problem." he replied, his voice seeming to be oddly detached. Valter could see how the blush flowed through her cheeks and subtle yearning sparkling in those–damn it all, he'll admit it!–beautiful, fierce gold eyes. He estimated what she was going through, he'd seen with all the women he was sexually or intimately involved with. Yet he couldn't offer what she craves for, the circumstances were so…convoluted right now. Also, he couldn't answer to her covert, unspoken wishes when he could not comprehend what she was doing to _him_. She was **changing** him and he couldn't figure out _how._ Ever since when she uncovered his nonchalant reaction to society's painted picture of him and a nearly inscrutable part of what he attempted to conceal, he has been vehemently trying to coercive her image out of the recesses of his mind but with no avail.

Glancing back down at Zecilys, Valter was partially astonished to discover how much closer his face was to Zecilys now. _Did she just move while I wasn't paying attention or did I—?_

At the moment, neither of them could truly conclude who initiated the portentous kiss but it was enough to entice the other to seal the deal. Zecilys and Valter found themselves in each others arms, lips firmly locked in zealous avidity.

However, what was more inconceivable was the fact that they weren't able to break away.

As the extemporaneous ardor continued between them and they were placed in a frozen embrace, the exact same thought scampered chaotically through both their minds: _By the gods, what have I done?!_

* * *

Yes, yes, you all read that correctly. Valter and Zecilys kissed (willingly this time on Zecilys's part). Ah, but who started the kiss? That will be answered in the next chapter. And yes, Irthos and L'Arachel do have sex but I didn't feel like divulging into more explicit details. Use your imagination on what they do. 

Well, I have the Irthos/L'Arachel relation finished, or mostly finished, so I can spend my almost undivided attention onto the Valter/Zecilys/Ephraim triangle. Oh yes, there will be some other minor pairings–like Joshua/Natasha and Caellach/Selena (I couldn't resist inserting that one in!)–but the rest of the minor pairings won't be disclosed right now. Wait for them, they'll make their spectacular appearance when the time is ripe. However, I will warn you, there is an unusual one in the works–and it cannot be found on my profile.

In case some people did not detect it, I made some slight changes in the scene where Vigarde is ordering the Imperial Six to efface the remaining Sacred Stones and yada, yada. It was essential for my storyline.

Reviews, critics, etc are allowed. Flames are strictly prohibited.

That's wrap, everyone. Adieu!


	14. Fourteen: Hearts Will Bleed

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. (ValterxOCxEphraim)

**Fourteen: Hearts Will Bleed **

A/N: This time I received this chapter's title from Megadeth's "Hearts Will Bleed". Hail Megadeth!

**Knives91:** Thanks for the review and the correction. I have been following this script on one website and Ephraim as the commander of the Frelian army didn't make any sense to me but I couldn't recollect who it really was so I just let the matter be. However, I'm glad you corrected me on my error; the pieces are falling perfectly into place. Enjoy chapter fourteen!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer:** **-cackles demonically at the mere notion of that- Have you been living under a rock these past years? **

**

* * *

**

_Glancing back down at Zecilys, Valter was partially astonished to discover how much closer his face was to Zecilys now._ Did she just move while I wasn't paying attention or did I—?

_At the moment, neither of them could truly conclude who initiated the portentous kiss but it was enough to entice the other to seal the deal. Zecilys and Valter found themselves in each others arms, lips firmly locked in zealous avidity._

_However, what was more inconceivable was the fact that they weren't able to break away._

_As the extemporaneous ardor continued between them and they were placed in a frozen embrace, the exact same thought scampered chaotically through both their minds:_ By the gods, what have I done?!

* * *

"Haste me to know it; that I with wings a swift as meditation, or the thoughts of love, may sweep to my revenge."-**William Shakespeare**

* * *

He drowsily opened his eyes, the whimsical power of sleep still griping his mind tenaciously. Focusing his hazy attention onto the wooden arches in the ceiling, Irthos then decided against waking up and promptly closed his eyelids shut. 

He really didn't want to open his eyes and wake up, that meant he would have to get dressed and _leave_. And by the gods he didn't want to leave, the warmth of the bed and the beautiful woman slumbering next to him was so entreating, so enticing that its loving, tender embrace would just lull him back into the land of Nod—

"_**Everyone has to return home sooner or later, even if it's just for short time."**_

As Riev's voice rang balefully inside his head, Irthos opened his eyes once more, fingers clutching the sheets tautly. Well, what if he didn't want to go back?

"_**The relics your family hid long ago have awoken from their slumber and are emitting this mystical aura to attract attention unto themselves. However, as you know, only you are capable of touching them so that is why I'm giving you this mission. You're the sole person who can."**_

"You're always trying to ruin my life, _Teacher,_" Irthos mused quietly to himself, yet the long compressed enmity was still sharp and deadly as any stiletto. Tilting his head to left, his embittered expression lessens as his amber gaze fell upon the woman lying beside him in bed. He reached out and gingerly grazed his pointer finger against the contour of her cheek, affectionately stroking her face with his gentle, compassionate touch. Irthos then leaned forward and softly pecked her on the cheek, the kiss light enough not to stir her from her sleep. After receiving the butterfly kiss, the slumbering L'Arachel scrunched her face up in an amusing way and tilted her head towards Irthos, continuing to sleep the day away.

Begrudgingly retreating from his lover's side and the bed's warmth, the pragmatic druid slipped out of the silken sheets and looked directly out the window in their room, observing the domestic vicinity outside.

"Irthos…?"

The said druid turned to the speaker, a small smile gracing his lips. "What is it, L'Arachel?"

The yellow chartreuse haired troubadour lifted herself up, sleep still eclipsing her. She stifled a yawn before speaking again. "Are you leaving now?" she asked deploringly, sorrow ringing in her words and glimmering in her chartreuse orbs. Irthos shook his head slowly.

"No, not now. I can afford to linger a few moments more." He sauntered back to the bed and sank down beside her once more, immensely thankful as her warmth began enveloping him in an ardent, promising embrace.

"When will you have to leave?"

Irthos sighed, dubious of the exact answer for that specific question. "I don't know precisely, but my departure will have to be soon. However—" Pausing briefly, he shifted his body so he was facing her, his golden eyes boring into her very being. "—I can spare an hour or two with you." His reply provoked a rapturous beam to spilt open across L'Arachel's face, her whole aura teeming with sheer ebullience.

"I'm overjoyed to hear that!" she squealed, snuggling close towards him and he answered with his trademark smirk.

"Glad to be of assistance." With that, he closed in on L'Arachel, capturing her beseeching, scrumptious mouth with his ever so beckoning lips.

Subsequently, all these prurient yet proliferating platonic conjugations would be amiable, bittersweet memories a few hours later, a perennial imprint on his heart. Resting there until the day he dies.

* * *

Pacing around in the cell was already transforming into an extremely boring and tedious task, in Tana's point of view. There was nothing inside this grimy, unfavorable dungeon that could keep her occupied for the time being. Just she and the bony remnants of past prisoners or whatever those ambiguous objects were disseminate across the stone-cobbled floor. 

Sighing in anxiety, Tana balled herself up and tucked her legs out in front of her. Suddenly feeling cold, the imprisoned Pegasus rider wraps her arms around herself to trap in heat and try to block the horrid quandary looming banefully over her.

"I hope Ephraim comes…. If he doesn't, what will become of me?" she whispered dolorously, violet blue eyes full of depression and despair.

Suddenly, as if an angel had heard and granted Tana's pleading, doleful wish, an intruder barged into the prison, the brutal force nearly swinging the door off its hinges. The imposing silhouette ambled through the cell, steadfastly approaching her with an air of familiarity.

"Tana?" the figure gasped, "What are you doing here?" The daylight from outside profusely exploded into the dungeon room, bathing Tana's rescuer in a pale yellow, angelic luminesce. Undeviating hope bursting forth in her heart, Tana scrambled from her sitting position and stood up to communicate with her savior, Ephraim.

"I came here in hopes of helping you in some way," she explained sincerely after her form was erect and ramrod straight, "But while I was looking for you, I got captured by Grado troops."

Ephraim sighed, whether from relief or exasperation, Tana could not comprehend. "Is that so?" he muttered and she bobbled her head automatically. He shook his head at the situation at hand but then focused on the brighter side of the dilemma. "Well, I'm glad to you're unharmed. Tana, you should head back to Castle Frelia immediately. King Hayden must be worried about you."

Tana's wide violet blue orbs sparkled with instant, vehement choler and she wildly shook her head in controversy to Ephraim's words. "No! Ephraim I came all this way so I could help you!" From all the frustration and ire she was experiencing, Tana almost stomped her foot down to display how much his request infuriated her.

A wry smile formed itself across Ephraim's unblemished, handsome features, his ocean-blue eyes gleaming with semi-regalement. "And yet, here I am, helping you…." he pointed out simply. Tana flushed at his deduction, humiliated by the truth of his statement.

"Ah, well…." she mumbled, fumbling for the right words, dearly hoping her makeshift oratory and tearful plea would do the trick. "Yes, that maybe true, but– But I've been so worried about you, Ephraim!"

The rectitude prince of Renais nodded slightly, actualization of her goal to assist him dawning over him. "I see." he stated fluidly but Tana wasn't through with him. Fixating her woeful wide orbs at him, she flawlessly constructed a beseeching, sorrowful expression that even the hardest, most callous man on Magvel would cede hopelessly to. Consequently, Ephraim was no exception.

"Oh, please don't look at me with those teary eyes. If you're really determined to help, then you're welcome to come with us. But you must promise me to try anything reckless." Ephraim warned her sternly and Tana nodded exuberantly, her tear-jerking eyes were quickly replaced by a pair of triumphant ones.

"Ephraim…" said Tana, her voice brimming with much ebullience, "Thank you. I knew that you would understand how I feel."

The Renais prince shrugged but nodded earnestly. Wordlessly, he exited the cell with Tana trailing behind him. As they entered the thick of battle, Tana scoped the combative, volatile vicinity. Corpses littered in the ground like scattered dandelion seeds across emerald plains, russet streams of blood trickling through the cracks and crevices of the stone-cobbled premises and garnet droplets sprinkling convulsively from freshly incised wounds. Wildly scooping the sanguinary antics gyrating hectically around her, Tana at last discovered what she has been searching for. Bending over and plucking an iron lance from a cadaver's pallid, lifeless grasp, she slung the weapon on top of her right shoulder and turned straight to Ephraim.

"So," she began, "where do I begin?"

* * *

Pulses palpitate in thunderous, raucous rhythm, hearts nearly lodged inside their throats. The two enfolded figures haven't moved or shifted themselves since the moment their lips touched. Seemingly, they were frozen in time. 

Beads of sweat trickles down the female wyvern rider's forehead, trailing along the side her face. She could hear her heart hammering erratically, threatening to explode convulsively from her chest–bones, blood, flesh and all. Meanwhile, Zecilys's brain was screeching at her to cease osculating him–_just stop the kiss for pity's sake_! She shouldn't be kissing him; the intimacy was wrong, implausible, and highly unacceptable on so many levels. Her whole predicament was a giant iniquity!

Then why, did the iniquity feel like total bliss? Why was she focusing on how molten and delectable the touch of his lips were, wondering how the sensation would feel like if she just opened her mouth and allow his tongue swirl ardently around her own…?

Prior to she could even throw all caution into the wind and either execute a decision that could be incredibly foolish, hebetudinous, or bold, or all three fused together, Zecilys instantly detected the absence of Valter's mouth and reluctantly, opened her amber eyes to face him.

His savage, ebony orbs fixated themselves squarely on her, their piercing, foreseeing gaze puncturing her very core, her perturbed soul. He appeared pensive, as if he was probing to unveil her motive behind her actions. Much to her surprise, he spoke, yet in a low, deep, and deadly timbre.

"What, in the Demon's King name was _that_ all about?"

He pinned her down with his ferocious, inquiring scrutiny and woefully, all words and explanations apparently died in Zecilys's throat. What…what should she tell him? And _how_, when she couldn't even fully fathom the quandary herself as well?

"I…don't know," she replied dubiously, looking away from him when she uttered those words. Valter snorted and she can almost imagine him cocking an eyebrow at her confounding statement.

"'Don't know'?" he quoted, evident puzzlement intertwined, "Then why did you graciously allow the kiss to continue, unlike the previous times we had in the past?"

Zecilys's head swiveled back to him, a hardly unreadable impression border lining shock and relief in her golden pupils. "You didn't realize…" she whispered softly, almost too softly for him to catch it.

"What didn't I realize?" he demanded, curiosity etched on his fearsome, alabaster features. Zecilys shook her head, the turmoil within her cultivating and burgeoning every minute.

"It is nothing. You shouldn't trouble yourself over something that really doesn't concern you," remarked Zecilys indifferently, directing herself not to look squarely at Valter and keep a solid, stoic decorum for his response. Her answer served to agitate the Grado general and instigated the Moonstone into a ferocious retaliation.

Quicker than she could react, Valter snatched her two wrists and brusquely drew to him. Heart pulsating viciously as it had previously at the contingency of their shared kiss, Zecilys compressed all her torrent emotions down and stared defiantly at Valter the Moonstone.

"What's going on, Valter?" she asked frigidly, assaying to compensate for her awkwardness beforehand.

"You tell me, Zecilys," replied Valter curtly, his impregnable timbre constructed of cold, impervious steel. Zecilys frowned.

"I can't conceive on what you mean." Valter snorted, rolling his eyes at her pitiful ploy.

"Don't play dumb with me, Zecilys. I fathom it was _you_ who initiated the kiss, not me, and now you're pretending it is of little significance?"

Zecilys blanched and panic seemed to flash briefly in her amber pupils prior to retreating back into its den. She shook her heard vigorously and attempted in ripping her hands from Valter's clutches, but alas, with no prevail. His hold on her was equivalent to a vice grip, taut and unyielding.

Zecilys grind her teeth in aggravation and frustration, her infamous, mercurial furor lurking about, threatening to explode. "Valter, let go! I don't have time for this!" She wrenched even harder, excruciating pain prickling in magnitudes up and down her wrists. "Just let me go!"

Valter's eyes narrowed and a dark, foreboding aspect washed over his pallid features, his displeasure and grim resolution evident in his movements and body language. "I will not." he replied slowly albeit each word permeated with forewarning and menace. At his definitive refusal, Zecilys halted her resistance temporarily to deliver him the most horrifying death glare she could feasibly muster at the moment.

"And why the hell not?!" she demanded scathingly, seething on all ends. She once more wrestled with his iron-clad clasp over her however her tactics were completely futile. Not that she going to admit_ that_ out loud.

Tightening his grip, Valter roughly drew Zecilys nigh to him, so nigh that their faces were a breath's away from touching. Valter could just simply tilt his head down and kiss her–that was the dearth of their proximity. Yet the Moonstone had more vital, monolithic matters at hand requiring his undivided attention than to absurdly focus on Zecilys's contiguity. "Because I want to know what the bloody hell you're playing at and why _you_ initiated the kiss."

Abysmal silence swept furtively over the two wyvern riders as Valter uttered those fulminating, ominous words, molding and morphing a molten, frictional, and ambivalent tension betwixt them. The dubiety, the abasement, was like a palpable, tangible wedge being propelled straight through the dwarfish grove that separated them and then propelling the pygmy-esque chasm to expand and erode into a mammoth crater. Zecilys inwardly swallowed her breath, pondering dynamically how to weasel herself out of this wretched, accursed predicament.

Weary and growing impatient by her lack of response, Valter relinquished one wrist to gingerly clasp his hand on her chin, mimicking the same sets of actions he concurred only about a week ago, when she keenly detected what lurked underneath his caliginous, noxious façade, his mask of savagery and turbulence, and concisely rended the controversial, occult veil of deception that he deftly wore as his veneer and inadvertently espied a modicum of his much secluded jaded, tortuous side.

"Well, Zecilys," he said solemnly, sounding a bit more like a grave minister at an untimely funeral than attempting to interrogate some answers out of a female's tightly sealed lips, "what do you have to say? I'm _waiting_." He added with a growl, emphasizing his burgeoning impatience and intolerance towards her unwanted, rather cumbersome, and uncharacteristic hush.

Pure golden orbs stared ambiguously back at him, obscurity and arcane arrays flaming ardently squarely into the Moonstone's beguiling sable pupils, sparks flying erratically betwixt them yet the abrupt, crackling electricity, the bubbling, smoldering chemistry went unnoticed by the two. Nothing revolving around the world seemed to matter to them; the only entity of utmost importance was the turquoise-haired female's response, her reason for osculating the man she had expressed anything but affection.

"I…" commenced Zecilys, franticly molding an impromptu explanation from the random phrases her brain was hurling sporadically at her. "…I, well, you see…it's complicated." At this feeble claim Valter cocked an obsidian eyebrow, not swallowing this measly epitome of an excuse.

"You expect me to believe _that_?" he challenged, fervently desiring a blunt, decisive answer from Zecilys. She shrugged her shoulders, assaying to appear nonchalant but her shifty eyes and her conspicuous yet subtle movements to convulsively jerk her head away from his pried fingers evidently signaled to Valter how awkward and uncomfortable the situation was making Zecilys. "Look, you might as well answer me if you want me to ever release you."

Zecilys's head swerved back to him, those gleaming, profound orbs akin to twin golden suns scrutinizing his very person, so uncannily similar to when he had been analyzing her just a couple of moments ago.

"**I refuse**." she declared definitively, defiant pride fanning across her sun-kissed features. A muscle in Valter's cheek twitched and he opened his mouth to rebuke her brazen tomfoolery, resolved to put her back in her place and remind her _exactly _who has absolute control of the present and future circumstances, of her current well-being. He didn't so much get one meager word in prior to Zecilys promptly kneed him the stomach–_thank_ the gods she didn't aim for his groin–effectively slackening his grip on her and she fluidly slithered out of his clutches. Much to his malcontent, she then sprinted like the Demon King himself was nipping at her heels while he was irefully nursing the grievous injury circulating rather excruciatingly in his lower torso region.

Valter narrowed his onyx orbs lethally at Zecilys's retreating figure, furor and wrath churning and brewing like a catatonic paroxysm._ When I catch up to that wench revenge will be _mine

As he eventually recovered from the unsavory blow Zecilys had dealt upon him, the notion of _how_ he would exact his vengeance on her ill-marked form did not cross his seething, sanguinary provoked mind. He just simply bolted into predatory action and adamantly pursued the wayward wyvern rider with hell-bent vigor and beastly fury.

He'll worry about how he would punish her later. First, he had to snare her…_again._

* * *

Carmine droplets danced jovially in his peripheral vision as he skewered another soldier squarely in the gut, the vociferous cacophony of combat strenuously drowning his adversary's agonized moan. Ephraim twirled his steel lance around once more, the butt of the lance puncturing another man behind him. He spun on his heels to confront his foe and aggressively drove his pike deeper into the warrior's fleshy bulk, blood seeping out of the mortal injury and saturating the man's shirt and the upper portion of Ephraim's lance. Uttering nothing, the fallen warrior slumped to the ground, his pupils dilated and rolling into the back of his head. Assertively pulling his weapon out of the cadaver the Renais prince retreated from his paucity of carnage and casualties, his olfactory harrowed by the haphazard malodor of carrion. 

"Prince Ephraim." The said prince pivoted to face a fatigue yet resolute Forde slathered in his perspiration and the blood of his enemies. "The enemy's numbers are dwindling, there's a scantiness of Grado soldiers in Fort Rigwald."

Ephraim half-nodded, pleased with his comrade-in-arms' assessment. "That's good to hear. Where are the majority of the regiments located in?"

Forde frowned pensively, his mind in thorough contemplation. "I believe most of the troops are hiding in the center of stronghold. Notwithstanding, the position of the leader of Rigwald in unfortunately unknown." he asserted grimly.

"Uh, excuse me…."

Both young men glanced over their shoulders and glimpsed Amelia, a young woman from Grado who recently had been recruited into Ford Rigwald. After an astonishing encounter with the perturbed and forlorn lass, Ephraim managed to convince Amelia with his veracity. Forde pitched in with his witticism and humorous jests just to get Amelia comfortable with the notion of her switching alliances and battling against her own companions, her countrymen.

"I believe I can assist you in uncovering Commander Gheb's whereabouts," Amelia explained softly, still at odds with herself. Forde's face brightens and he genially encouraged Amelia to go on. Ephraim simply nodded to her for the reassurance she silently sought from him and she smiled slightly, strength and courage refreshed.

"I overheard that Commander Gheb stationed himself in the heart of Rigwald, the center of this bastion," explained Amelia lucidly, rapidly losing all incertitude and diffidence that had been bottled up inside. "I can direct you to him, if that at all helps."

The corners of Ephraim's mouth quirked upward and he found himself beaming at the female recruit's knowledge. At the moment, he was _so _jubilant that he persuade Amelia to join their cause, she already was proving to be a valuable asset to their motley crew of fighters.

"Show us the way," he ordered cordially and she nodded dutifully, a pleased expression on her fair features.

"Right this way!" Motioning to the frisky, vermillion armored cavalier and the virtuous Renais prince, Amelia raced down the bloodstained, tainted corridor, urgently beckoning Ephraim and Forde to follow.

"Go ahead of me, Ephraim, I'll go back to get the others," said Forde earnestly.

"All right, then," Ephraim replied and sprinted off to shadow Amelia and Forde double-tracked his steps to find the other members. The impish knight first found Tana combating alongside with Natasha and Joshua.

"Hey, guys! We found a route that could direct us to the leader of this fortress!" shouted Forde over the parlous, staccato clamor and shockingly, the three soldiers actually heard him over the thick of battle.

"Really?" answered Joshua curiously, rolling a coin between his thumb and pointer finger, "Perhaps Lady Luck will shine some of her good grace on me in this forthcoming scrimmage." Natasha sighed and shook her head, then grabbed the scarlet-haired myrmidon by the crook of his arm.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," he told her tranquilly and a ghost of a smile neatly found its way on Natasha's creamy visage. Wordlessly, she nodded her head in approval and the two headed down to the antechamber where Forde pointed Ephraim and Amelia were previously in and informed them of the corridor they used that will lead them straight to the boss, Commander Gheb. Tana, of course, was right behind them, eager to lend more assistance to Ephraim and the others.

"Time to find the rest of the lot," Forde muttered as he slapped the reigns against the shoulder blades of the chestnut colored, tawny Odin, who, in return, neighed and bolted into a brisk canter. After all, Ephraim would definitely need reinforcements if he and Amelia managed to uncover where this Commander Gheb was cached in.

An evanescing flash of Dahlia purple caught Forde's eyes and he twisted his body around to get a better view of the so-called prodigy mage. If she indeed was a prodigy, they can most certainly utilize her prowess in this impending skirmish.

"Lute! We found out where the commander of this stronghold resides…."

* * *

Gheb, the sole commander of Fort Rigwald, gawped incredulously at the surprise assault executed out by Amelia, Joshua, and Ephraim, designed by the Renais prince himself. "Wh-hat was that?" He swiped his axe at Joshua's head and he ducked with ease, swiftly maneuvering his blade to incise Gheb's forearm. Blood gushed freely from the incision and the corpulent leader stridently cried out in anguish. 

"You piece of trash, what do you think you're doing?!"

Taking this as her cue to attack from behind, Amelia furtively raced towards Gheb's back and with a face full of grim tenacity, the blonde recruit from a backwater village embedded the point of her slim lance into Gheb's backside. Gheb howled from the aftermath of the clever tactic and whirled around to face his cloak-and-dagger aggressor. When he saw Amelia, his round, pudgy eyes were transformed into bulging, irate sausages.

"Y-you wench… You're that recruit, aren't you?!" he shrilly hollered, pointing a chubby, accusing finger at her, "Do you really think you can betray me and get away with it?" He retrieved his axe and tightly held the gleaming weapon nigh to him, glowering at Amelia for injuring him so. The young woman's face paled slightly at his ill-begotten threat yet she still gripped her lances firmly and the obstinacy remained engrained on her peach-tone visage.

"Your threats no longer hold any power over me. I-I am not your pawn!" she declared steadfastly and with an enraged roar, Gheb lunged at her, axe swinging chaotically and crudely around.

A massive blast of fire ricocheted squarely into the dashing commander's side, brutally scorching every portion of skin on the right side of his portly physique. Gheb yowled, and with his left hand, vainly attempted in smothering the noxious, infernal flames gradually unfolding through out his entire body. The smell of burnt, charred flesh languidly but acutely drifted about and the company commenced their next onslaught against the truculent, inflaming commander of Rigwald.

After Lute's indirect onset on Gheb, Forde and Gillaim adroitly charged at the corpulent axe-wielder from opposite sides, befuddling the corrupt cretin into which side he should engage in combat. Further more, Lute sent another fiery, detonating wave of her Fire while Neimi knocked an arrow to her bow and with a half-hearted gulp the timid archer exhaled her restrained breath and gracefully permitted her arrow to fly. Gheb dodged the arrow and then frantically dove out of harm's way from Lute's Fire. Unfortunately, the long-distance attacks by Lute and Neimi were a trap, pressuring the Rigwald commander stumbled closer to either Gilliam or Forde. The ploy worked like a charm: Gheb tumbled backwards into Gilliam's path. Instantly seizing his chance, the blasé knight of Frelia thrust his steel lance forward, skewing the point concisely into Gheb's erector spinea. Blood squirted out of the punctured wound and splashed unceremoniously on to Gilliam's rugged, weathered countenance.

Gheb's howls of detriment and excruciating agony echoed banefully across the battle chamber, frightening a couple of local pigeons that were hopping around the open windows to flutter and scatter off into the outside vicinage.

"Th-that's not poss–" he uttered when his bellows of misery were complete and his strength was waning.

Sensing the closure to this battle was near, Forde promptly kicked Odin's sides and the constantly faithful steed complied with his owner's wish in an instant. The roan stallion lurched forward into a heavy, rapid canter and Forde unsheathed his steel sword, preparing for the final stroke, the killing move. Gheb futilely tried to wedge himself out of Gilliam's lance but the pain was unbearable and the stoic knight had him locked. Haplessly, the obese, smarmy commander watched with watering, bulging eyes as Forde portentously approached, sword positioned in a deadly, fatal arch.

Burgundy driblets sprayed chaotically at all angles, like bloody raindrops raining from the heavens above, the mourning ruby tears of an anguished, depressed angel. The headless commander slouched forward, his greasy, hideous head plopping a few feet away from the sanguine carcass.

Glancing briefly at the terror-frozen expression on Gheb's head and the motionless, pale cadaver, Forde wiped his saturated brow, receiving a nod of approval from Gillaim. Instinctively gleaning the furtive mist of melancholy descending the rest of the combative cadre, the crimson clad cavalier charismatically faced the fatigued troop, a rather coercive but jaunty beam on his sweating, weary visage.

"Well," he began, cleaning his sword from all the blood stains with a gaudy rag, "that was taken care of. Looks like the fort's ours."

Ephraim offered a half-smile and nodded reluctantly, ultimately relieved that his stratagem was an absolute success. "So it is, Forde. So it is."

* * *

There have been countless of epic, captivating chases since the nascence of mankind. 

There was Apollo pursuing Daphne, Pan tailing Syrinx, Alpheus hunting Arethusa, Otus and Ephialtes hounding Artemis, the Moon-Hound tracking the children called Sun and Moon, and Thiazi shadowing Loki.

Each rigorous chase was either on the matter of hopeless love, a destined path marked by the gods, or retaliation for being thwarted.

Valter's impetuous, obstinate pursuit on Zecilys was neither of these. The tempestuous, vehement hunt was more on the notion of pride, of mixed, intricate impressions stirring fickly in both wyvern riders' souls. However, this chase and the ones of legends and myths shared one common factor: The hunter was relentless while the hunted was equally so. Valter was implacable; he would not be sated nor wholly satisfied until he successfully retrieves Zecilys back into his clutches, and damn the subsequent repercussions.

Sprinting more fiercely than at the time she was imprisoned in Fort Renvall, more than the time Aunt Bertha discovered it was Irthos and her who inserted salt into her tea, more than the time she had greatly enraged Xais and he was racing after her in a semi-inebriated frenzy, Zecilys dared not to look behind her, fearing such a technicality would hinder her pace and reveal how much ground Valter had gained over a short period. This was just like scenario when they first met, where he and his mount were tenaciously dogging her and Eroniz's flight. Only this time, she was on her own and there were unfortunately no foliage or territorial obstructions that could offer a potential cache and shelter her from Valter's paroxysmal, feral temper.

_Well, this is what I get for instigating him again for–what, the umpteenth time? Oh, Hell's fires! _

Zecilys swerved herself around a solitary tree and barely glimpsed at the sloping, steep hill presented before her. Taking her chances, she rapidly commenced her descent into the corrugated, rough terrain. She maneuvered her body and feet to avoid foxholes and other animal burrows and swiftly leaped over behemoth boulders and rocks. Her velocity increasing in an alarming rate, Zecilys quickly assessed she was slowly losing control of her footage and would be unable to fully halt herself once she reaches the end of the rocky, partially cantilevered mound. Sure enough, just as she woefully predicted, her feet misplaced their jump and tripped over medium-sized stone. There would be no Valter this time around to catch her when she falls.

The untimely tumble arrived faster than she imagined. Soon, she was stumbling, and then rolling against the grassy patches of sage and peacock green. There were multiple occurrences when she rotated over a rock, disseminated twigs, or an object equally uncomfortable and jagged.

_It's official: The Fates _**despise**_ me._

Finally, her ungraceful topple abruptly ended and Zecilys found herself at the bottom of the steep, tribulation and physical misery prickling strenuously up and down her mortal being. "Ooooow," moaned Zecilys under her breath, "that was tenfold worse compared to when Eroniz executed that nosedive from the air and crash-landed into a thicket." Picking her bruised and battered self up, Zecilys brushed the smeared dirt and strands of grass off her clothes and hair. A reverberating, deep-throated chuckle caused her to freeze instantaneously, for she recognized the husky, tantalizing timbre all too well.

"Excellent descent, Zecilys," called out the Moonstone merrily from the top of the hill, "is this a regular episode for you?" Furiously whirling on the balls of her feet, Zecilys fixed her seething wildcat eyes onto the somewhat precarious wyvern general who was _sauntering _nonchalantly down the slope.

"I'm overjoyed that you find my distress utterly regaling," she retorted acridly, countenance flushing crimson in chagrin and ire. She saw Valter shrug his shoulders but the diabolical smirk was plastered lucidly on his placid features.

"I suppose you can say that." he replied thusly.

"How comforting," sneered Zecilys, valiantly assaying to regain her composure once more. Suddenly actualizing she should be fleeing him instead of exchanging ripostes, she tensed, and then bolted. The taunting, entertained atmosphere shrouding Valter quickly vanished, replaced by his previous savage choler.

"**Oh, no you don't**!" Zecilys heard him thunder, his roaring, tumultuous voice akin to the sound of the torrential, wrathful waves of a tsunami or a hurricane. The misfortunate circumstance simply stimulated Zecilys to run faster, harder, and also quicken her pace. Oh, and it would be extremely helpful if Valter were to trip on his way down from the hill. Yet neither the Fates nor Lady Luck were truly on her side, were they?

She weaved in and out around submerging objects of nature and cautiously avoided any hazardous landmarks. Her breathes became haphazard and her heart thumped like a perpetual animal stampede. Precipitately, two arms shoot out of nowhere and encircled themselves tautly across her waist and upper torso, halting her erratic sprint in an instant. Her breathing hitched, lodging painfully in her throat. Her heart continued to pulsate, only with fresh, burgeoning vigor and power. Trepidation stirring and whirling hectically inside her gut, Zecilys took a slow, deep breath to hopefully ease the tension and chaos raging within her mind. As she took in the breath, her nostrils received a whiff of a delectable fragrance, an aroma both thrilling yet sedative.

There was a kind of earthy aspect in his scent, fused in with natural sweat and fresh pine from the lush forest grove. She could smell the tang of sandalwood and spice as his face drew nigh, his ominous breath blaring down the side of her neck like a belligerent, seething dragon. As he constricted and pulled her body into him, she received much stronger, more sensational incense. A musky and smoky scent of leather and oak moss lingered languidly around him, tantalizing and ensnaring her senses with the redolence's near palpable, ambrosial bouquet.

While she inhaled more and more of this piquant aroma, she somehow began to recall what his lips had tasted like: Rough, tender, seductive, enthralling, dominating, molten, and…minty. Unconsciously, Zecilys flicked her tongue outward and briefly tasted the remnants of her shared kiss with Valter. Yes, she was completely certain, he tasted like mints. _I wonder…did he eat some food with mint as an ingredient or does he chew on mint leaves frequently? _Running her tongue over her mouth once more in a gradual, savoring manner to appease her inquiring mind and conjecture, eventually she analyzed that he, indeed, tasted minty.

The aromatic, memorizing spell Valter's scent had cast over her was precipitately disturbed when Zecilys felt something torrid and ardent blaring amorously against her neck. With renewed agog she rid the cobwebs clouding and bewitching her mind, her release from mystical regime only served to lure her into a whole new sovereignty. She begrudgingly lifted herself out of the pungent enchantment only to discover the Moonstone's face buried into the crook of her neck, commencing to unleash his avid ardor upon her tan-tinted, victimized flesh.

Face down, the precarious wyvern knight darted his tongue outward like a serpent, meticulously sampling the sweetness of her skin. First, the flicks were light and airy, almost butterfly-like. They then rapidly metamorphosed into intense, ravenous, interminable tangents that seemed to reduce Zecilys's mind into a pile of mush and her legs pudding. She was grateful Valter kept a fierce, adamant hold around her, without his support she was positive she would have collapsed from the sheer impact of his unbridled appetency.

As he weaved his dark, wicked, and magnificent spell over her, he carefully rotated her around so she would be facing him. Feeling much too narcotic and muddled to protest or resist, Zecilys listlessly went with the flow, finding herself once more in the inscrutable scrutiny of Valter the Moonstone.

She once has lost herself while gazing mindlessly into the oceanic pupils of Ephraim, her childhood love. Now, as she peered carelessly into Valter's vicious yet ambivalent eyes and attempting to uncover the secrets looming behind the arcane, ambiguous depths of his ebony orbs, she wholly realized how immensely she would be drowned in this simple yet profound stare.

What lurks behind those charcoal eyes of his? What suppressed emotions has he locked away inside, deep inside his core? What was he secluding from her, from society, from rest of the whole wide world? How did his own past stain and plagued him, just like her days of yore did to herself so efficiently?

Caught up in the intensity and enigma intertwined within his jet-black pupils Zecilys failed to detect the carnal, salacious tension curtaining around them, especially consuming a certain wyvern knight. He tried tearing himself away from her prying yet appealing golden orbs but with no avail. Realizing the more and more he surveyed the luminous emotions flickering sporadically in her amber eyes, the more he come to conceive and reluctantly admit that he and Zecilys shared incalculable similarities with one another.

Finally able to muster his inner strength and break off the portentous eye connect they had, Valter attempted to regain control of the circumstance and revert back to his nefarious, enraged self once more. Yet another, faint whiff of Zecilys's scent coquettishly wafted into nostrils, possessing him again with its alluring, siren aroma. Eager to breathe in more of her delicious, natural perfume, Valter gradually leaned his head forward and without a conscious thought, buried his face back into the crook of her neck, his olfaction soaking up all the pungent, sensational fragrance of turquoise-haired female.

He could smell wisps of sage grass and rosemary, hints of nutmeg and cedar altogether infused within her enticing incense. Her bouquet was eclectic, spicy, and mundane. It felt like he held a spirited, untamed woodland nymph in his arms with her redolence and mere presence subtly imprisoning his entire being, impelling his libido to come forth and claim her.

_God's wounds, what is this woman doing to me?!_

Snarling, the Moonstone tried to pull himself back from her but Zecilys's aphrodisiac aroma seemed to obstinately grip his soul, the fragrance's entreating, luscious avid fingers clasping over his bereft, belligerent heart. He has to feed his whetted appetite, this seemingly insatiate concupiscence of his! Deciding to alleviate the fervid ache throbbing relentlessly inside his loins, Valter permitted himself to sink lower into Zecilys's tempting, seductive odor and once more taste the scrumptious, verboten nectar she has to offer. His teeth grazed her skin as his tongue and lips made their fervent sojourn from her collarbone, past her throat, and up to the corner of her mouth. Ardently desiring to sample her appeasing and intoxicating splendor, the pernicious wyvern general brushed his mouth against her coral colored ones and impetuously conquered her beckoning lips as his own. As he swirled and twirled his tongue around the caverns of her mouth with a fierce resolve to devour every morsel of the tart honey she possessed, he perceived a piquant yet exotic flavor within her saccharine lips. It was ginger. Consequently enough, his favorite spice just so happened to be ginger.

Valter was seriously beginning to contemplate the notion that was no such entity as coincidences, that every contingency and occurrence is wrought by the Fates, by the tides of Destiny. His tongue absorbed the fire, the delicacy in Zecilys lips while his mind was plagued and enamored by Zecilys's tantalizing, coaxing scent. By the gods, he really couldn't get enough of her, could he?

Easily prying his mouth from her presently kiss-swollen lips and withdrawing himself from her personal boundaries, Valter once more looked longingly at this arcane, eccentric, but captivating hoyden, a robust, peerless minx with the heart and spirit of a true, formidable warrior. How could she be peering at him in that yearning fashion, as if she covertly craved some entity from him? It was like she harbors some sort of affections for him, which was purely absurd. She had to have silently staked her heart for that bothersome whelp Ephraim. After all, he had witnessed her blatant adoration blazing luminously in her gold, wildcat pupils. So now, why was she precipitately so acquiescent to his prurient, salacious deeds of appetency? Nothing made absolute sense anymore.

The Moonstone brushed a lone, pale finger against Zecilys's check and her eyes widen slightly at this somewhat intimate act. Unconsciously aware of it, Valter gingerly caresses Zecilys's face with his dexterous, potent fingers, running them through her scintillate, wavy hair while on the tangent.

"Valter…?" she questioned hesitatively, her sun-kissed features expressing utter astonishment. Her usually ferocious gilt orbs suddenly implored him to answer her unspoken inquiry, to end the awkward silence threatening to ascend over them like a nearly palpable blanket of anxiety.

"What are you doing to me?" he rasped out, the husky lilt in his deep, intimidating timbre cultivating with each word he uttered. Zecilys blinked, unable to fathom his meaning.

"Pardon?"

Exasperated, he brought both of his hands to the sides of her face, compelling their eyes to vigorously lock on one another again. "You love him, don't you?" he hissed, incapable of controlling his long-forbore tumultuous emotions from their condemning cages. He meticulously observed Zecilys as her eyes dilated once more, only this time shock and uncertainty were two additional main factors.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered breathlessly. Valter frowned strenuously at her.

"I'm referring to that meddlesome lordling, Ephraim. Don't deny it, Zecilys. I **know** about the…_affections_ your nurse for him." He immediately analyzes her imminent reaction, assaying to uncover her veridical, true impressions regarding the cumbersome brat of a prince.

"…And if I do?" Zecilys replied staidly, her luminescent pupils warily observing him and his precarious state. Infernal furor boiled chaotically inside of him, an alarmingly powerful and raw emotion taking root and snaking its sovereignty over him. Valter scowled inwardly, irked how he was behaving and at Zecilys's cryptic comments. He wanted answers and by the gods, he wanted them **now**!

"Just tell me." he growled, his patience reaching its limit. Zecilys shifted her gaze from, dubiety etched perpetually over her fair features. An obscure yet conspicuous frown graced her lips and her eyes narrowed in concentration. After a few seconds' worth of contemplation, she opened her mouth to reply. Valter coolly yet agitatedly awaited for her response. Déjàvu instantly struck him and the Moonstone recollected a similar predicament when they were in the dungeons and that event was also regarded to the 'famous' Prince Ephraim. The same previous ire and contempt he experienced earlier reappeared, churning inanely within him, his irate mind concocting and scheming elaborate plots to harrow that puny princeling and coercive him down to his knees. When the time approaches and he encounters the commendable Prince Ephraim he'll be sure to bestow the obstinate Renais prince pure and absolute Hell.

_Heh, the notion actually sounds like fun._

"Why are you so intent in knowing my relation towards Ephraim?" Zecilys inquired brusquely, effectively shattering his perturbed and wrathful reverie.

_Just answer my bloody question! _

"That's none of your business," ground out Valter, keeping his temper in check, "now will you stop dodging my query and tell me 'yes' or 'no'?!"

"I'm not dodging your query at all!" Zecilys protested vehemently. Despite himself and the circumstances, Valter fought back a smirk tugging tenaciously at the corners of his mouth.

"Really now?" he cajoled, morbidly delighted that his predatory mood was returning and coming out to play, "Then why are you trying to change to subject on me?" Dark, twisted laughter danced mirthfully in his unfathomable, beguiling ebony pupils. Zecilys bristled, indignant by his accusation.

"I am _not _trying to change the subject!" she exclaimed boisterously, golden eyes ablaze with fulminating and vindictive fire. Weary and irritated via Zecilys's denial, Valter sought to end this unsavory argument once and for all. The sole entity that the closure needs is either a 'yes' or a 'no'. Inducing Zecilys's face with his hands until they were nose to nose and now, they could barely see their reflections in each other's eyes.

"You're trying to elude my inquiry, Zecilys, and I will not put up with that. I request a straightforward reply from you." He paused, taking a deep breath prior to resuming. "Do you care for Ephraim?" It was extremely difficult for him to restrain his emotions and spit out Ephraim's name devoid of any malice.

She nodded automatically. "Yes."

Valter paused again but pressed onward without further ado. "Do you…love him?" He surprised himself how uncharacteristically soft his voice sounded in the end yet it was inevitable that his timbre also contained pure malign and was obviously terse. Unfortunately for him, Zecilys responded once more with a questionnaire of her own.

"Why do you want to know? How come you're so curious?" she demanded yet the words were composed, quiet, and serene. Aggravated even further, Valter glowered displeasingly at Zecilys, prepared to rebuke her. Ignoring his evident rage, the turquoise-haired wyvern rider plunged into several more queries.

"I mean, why should you be concerned whether I love Ephraim or not? It's not like you even—" Desiring to cease her questioning and controversial rants on his level of interest, Valter acted upon the one deed that would effectively silence her. Quick and furtive as any predator, he eclipsed his bereft mouth over her parted, alluring lips with a searing kiss.

Zecilys's speech died immediately and was replaced with her stunned gasp of abrupt pleasure. As the appetizing and spicy taste of ginger reached his tongue and mouth again, Valter conceived he could wait for her response later. It wasn't like the matter was dire or urgent and he needed the answer pronto. He could be patient, he could await for the opportune moment.

He molded Zecilys's body into his own, savoring the amorous fervor flaming in their nestled frames. Zecilys moaned slightly when he performed this and the Moonstone had to grin devilishly at this small victory. Yes, he can wait. Just as long Zecilys was under his surveillance, he will be acquiesced in biding his time.

_Yet, when the time is ripe, I will pounce. Then, she will have no choice but finally reply to my inquiry. No eluding in the next round, Zecilys. _

As the kiss ensued, the Fates cast the die. The tides of Destiny began accumulating and escalating while Father Time arduously blew the winds of the past, present, and future down into the mortal realm. Fortune smiles and frowns upon her chosen targets, calculating who suffers and triumphs over her whimsical, abnormal sinew. Lady Luck spontaneously tossed her coin in with Fate's dice and they resume their epic chess match. Mother Irony craftily spun her celestial tapestry of serendipities and contingencies, each thread possessing a certain event hovering in the distant horizon. While these supernatural beings executed their tasks, the gods watched up above from their elegant, decadent thrones with anticipation.

The War of the Stones rested in the hands of many mortals in Magvel but the fates of some of those responsible for the grim, foreboding stint were held in the palm of the sole survivor of the notorious Melkbane Massacre. The gods comprehended that sooner or later, she would eventually have to decide where her heart truly beats for. Is it for the dashing, gallant Renais prince who is resolute to rescue her and at last, proclaim his endearing love for her? Or does her heart belong to the peculiar, licentious wyvern knight of Grado who is scarred by demonic power and still is incessantly haunted by his dark, odious yesteryears?

The gods glanced over at Father Time and in apprehension he nodded solemnly to the divinities prior to heading back to his daily routine. As they said before, only time will tell.

* * *

A druid cloaked in a lengthy, sable robe with a hood overcastting his shadowed yet attractive features, soberly entered the vacant, forsaken vicinity of his ancestral past. Debris and pebbles crunched clamorously underneath his boots as he ambled to his destination, his brisk pace displaying all the anxiety and remorse he pent inside of him for countless of years. 

_Where are they…? Where are those bloody relics?!_

Dolefully scanning the ruins in front of and around him, Irthos sighed wistfully as his inspection began deeming his search fruitless. Just where _exactly _did his family cache those mythical artifacts?

"If memory serves…they should be stored in some underground, a secluded chamber protected by an ancient, magical spell." He frowned skeptically, raptly perplexed in the intricate design constructed by his vestige house in their objective to squirrel away their three most prized and sacrosanct treasures from prying, avid, and power-hungry eyes. He wouldn't be at all flabbergasted if he eventually discovers Xais was the mastermind behind this clever yet extremely obtuse configuration. Besides being renowned as a "functioning drunk", he also was quick-witted and piqued when the moment came to solving riddles, puzzles, and other cryptic quagmires. The notion made perfect sense if his parents permitted Xais to reside over the covert reclusion of the family's hallowed artifacts.

Prior to Irthos could despair at the potential default in his tedious search, a brief but lucid pang of sanctified aura zapped into his spiritual core, akin to an arrow whizzing squarely and effortlessly into the center of his heart. Eyes widening both with utter shock and sheer relief, Irthos adamantly followed the invisible, unearthly trail the sacred relics were profusely emanating.

"_**The relics your family hid long ago have awoken from their slumber and are emitting this mystical aura to attract attention unto themselves."**_

Rapidly tracking the inexplicable vibes of the artifacts, Irthos noticed the closer he came to the sacraments' secluded location, the stronger the vibe became. He was close, so near to his objective of this putrid mission. He faintly hears the silent, beckoning calls of the mythical relics, imploring him to heed their plea and find them. Wordlessly, he obliged and succinctly walked through the ruins of his childhood and distant memories, resolved to uncover where those irksome items were hidden.

He stopped abruptly, facing the entrance to his family's catacombs. The underground burial chambers had been abandoned long ago, Irthos perceived the primitive cobwebs adhering to the upper corners of the archway. He cocked a lean, caliginous eyebrow at the ghostly, ill-begotten monument for the dead, years of neglect and lack of proper care had ultimately besmirched the Melkbane catacombs.

"So this is where they're stored away in."

With no hesitance or thoughts of dubiety, Irthos sublimely entered his house's catacombs, his obsidian cloak billowing outward behind him like a pair of ruffling, velvet black wings.

As the darkness of the underground caverns descended over him, Irthos simply yanked a torch off the stone eroded wall, lit a match, and ignited the torch with the tiny golden flame. Probing and sensing once more for the magical path the relics had emitted, Irthos strode down the gaps and shaped walkways betwixt the myriad of musty, dusty tombs covered in cobwebs and sediment. The pragmatic druid delved deeper and deeper into the caverns, pacing down the stairs heading straight to the famed Melkbane items of lore. Navy blue tresses drooped in front of his countenance and he hastily brushed them aside, his heart hammering vociferously inside his chest, screaming to explode from the confinements of his ribcage. Any moment now, he would discover the three separate leading to each artifact wrought solely just for him, Zecilys, and Alcyone. Soon, very soon—

There! The three, aforementioned doors were looming in his peripheral vision, exactly right in front of him!

Irthos rushed to the clay-molded doors and fastened the blazing torch into a vacant holder nailed to the wall. He approached the nearest one, the door with _his_ name engraved in the middle. Underneath his name was the Melkbane emblem, a fearsome dragon embracing the moon with its claws while its tails encircles the sun. Recalling the instructions in order to open his door, Irthos gently placed his left hand over the insignia, patiently waiting for the spell hovering over the three chambers recognize his quintessence and unlock the door for him. Few seconds later, there a massive groan and the stone slab slid open sideways, introducing the secret room that was meant for him. Tentatively, he stepped into the room, inserting a wedge at the doorway's corner so that the slab wouldn't fully slam shut on him and imprison him here. Surveying the rather plain, sullen room around him, Irthos swiftly explored the paucity of accommodations in this desolate area.

A surge of explosive, raw, and dark energy attracted his attention and he swerved his focus to the heart of the room. There, lying innocently on a podium was an ancient, worn tome done in jet-black leather and crackling and vibrating with august dark magic. Eagerly, Irthos confronted the book and gingerly, almost airily, placed his hands on the covering, reveling at the panoply this archaic tome of darkness emitted. The best part was that the tome belonged to _him_.

Glittering, illuminating silver letters glinted off the trapped light encased within the room and the druid delicately traced a pointer finger over the letters: _Dunkelnacht_. The word originated from a foreign language lost centuries ago in Magvel and barely some of its ancestry was being unearthed. Roughly, the name translated to 'dark night', a very appropriate title for a book dedicated the incantations of dark magic. Dunkelnacht will serve him well.

Tucking the tome into his bag, Irthos then proceeded over the second door, Alcyone's. Since she was dead thus her life source had dispersed so the spell to detect and only allow Alcyone's presence was negated hence Irthos could have full access to his older sister's chamber. Repeating the same steps, the stone slab sluggishly slid open for him and he walked in to claim Alcyone's trinket.

Her relic was beautifully crafted ring, pure gold molded and wrought into a perfect circular shape. An opal rested in the center while a paid of stud diamonds nestled alongside the gemstone. Flanking the diamonds' sides were two sparkling, magnificent sapphires. Intricate letterings had been carefully carved into the gold surface of the ring, presenting the definite name of this masterpiece.

"_Gotts Glück_–God's luck," Irthos read out loud, curiously inspecting the mystical ring from all angles. This ring carried magical properties, make no mistake about that. He wasn't quite absolute what it was designed for but he could conjecture by the name that the ring was supposed to grant an incalculable amount of luck to the possessor. "Pretty useful," he mused and pocketed the ring into his bindle.

_Two down, one more to go. _

Approaching the third and final door, Irthos coercive the lump forming in the back of his throat downward. Mentally shoving all thoughts and retrospections of his camaraderie and close, deep connection with Zecilys, Irthos grind his teeth and slammed his palm against the Melkbane symbol.

To his immediate astonishment, nothing betided. The door remained closed and the aura that flowed through forlorn vicinity elicited more powerful than ever. Confounded, Irthos frowned, knitting his eyebrows together. _How is this feasible? Zecilys is dead, the spell over her door should have dispersed, just like Alcyone's! Once the owner of the relic dies, the charm is lifted and it automatically vaniashes with the owner's spirit. So why won't the enchantment accept my quintessence?! _

Precipitately, an idea popped into his head. The actualization hit him like a ton of bricks. There could be only **one** reason why his essence wasn't being recognized and that the protection spell is still intact.

"Zecilys," Irthos breathed out incredulously while resting his forehead against the door, right under her boldly graved name, "you're alive. You're actually alive." His lips curved upward into a wry, bitter smile.

"Well, it appears that even Death himself couldn't hold you down, could he?"

* * *

"Caellach, why aren't you heading out to Jehanna yet and fulfilling His Majesty's orders?!" 

Inwardly moaning by this unpleasant interruption of his lovely nap, the said hero lazily opened one hazel eye, then the other. "Hello there, Selena. What can I do for you?" In response, Selena narrowed her livid blue pupils at him and before he could blink, her hand darted out and grasped his collar, nearly yanking him off his feet. Startled and taken back via her brusque act, Caellach almost tripped over his feet in a measly attempt to regain stability. He grabbed Selena's wrists and brutally pried her stubborn fingers from his shirt. Irate, he glared menacingly at the mage knight who truculently glowered back with fire and malign equal to his own.

"By the saints, lass! What the bloody hell was _that_ for?!" Caellach demanded tersely. A complacent smirk neatly graced Selena's striking, potent features, a semblance to his very own smug, roguish grin.

"**That **was for you napping when you really should have been preparing yourself for the sojourn to Jehanna!" she explained frostily, sheer acid laced within her ardent remark. Caellach sighed exasperatedly, and then yawned, much to Selena's annoyance.

"Yeah, well, don't trouble yourself over trifles such as my expedition. However," he paused to flash his trademark grin at the Fluorspar, "I had no idea that you cared so much. Worried about my safety?"

Selena briefly flushed crimson but managed to regain her composure in a remarkable speed. "No," she retorted, her voice dripping with choler and venom, "I'm concerned your level of competence and the degree of success you'll have in this task with the disgraceful actions you so casually display."

Caellach dramatically brought a hand to his heart, feigning dejection and detriment. "You wound me, Selena. You words are daggers thrust into my heart!" he proclaimed satirically, mirth twinkling in his hazel pupils. Selena blinked incredulously at him, confounded by his words. Seeing her bemusement, he shrugged and dropped the act at once.

"Okay, so I'm not a poet," he admitted while bending down to retrieve his axe and fasten his prime weapon into its holder, "but you got to say I performed an excellent imitation of those romance-idle, foolish saps who spout nothing but trite, overly embellished, mawkish phrases." At this remark, Selena arched an incredulous eyebrow directed solely onto him.

"So you're not a natural sycophant?" she queried dryly. Caellach cocked a frolicsome, bantering beam at Selena, apparently relishing the scathing ripostes she was delivering.

"No, lass, I'm afraid I am not. I never had much luck with honeyed words or flowery speeches." the auburn haired general conceded jocundly, "But don't let that stop you." he added, the jaunty smirk widening with every word.

Frowning, Selena's eyebrows furrowed, pondering Caellach's meaning. "Stop me from what?" she inquired suspiciously, forewarning blazing convulsively in her cerulean blue eyes, inferring him not to attempt anything stupid or frivolous. A mischievous glint glimmered in his eyes and for a moment, Selena sorely regretted asking him.

_I've seen that gleam in his eyes before… This cannot be a good sign._

"Glad you asked, lass," replied Caellach jauntily, "for you'll be accompanying me on my journey to Jehanna."

"WHAT?!"

Caellach smirked crookedly at the blonde mage knight's astonished outburst, ultimately pleased with her fervent reaction to his manifesto. "If you need a bit of an explanation I'll be acquiescent to grant you one." Selena's stunned demeanor melted away and a perturbed expression emerged in its place from Caellach's haughty decorum. An aggravated growl resonated from her gullet and she flexed her fingers in and out in order to ease the itching them and alleviate the tension and ire toiling tumultuously in her blood.

"Enlighten me, Caellach." Selena commanded gravely, her voice betraying impending wrath and truculent conviction which was in total contrast to her cool, rigid, steely complexion. Jovially accepting the invitation, Caellach opened his mouth in order to commence his tale.

"Well, I suppose you can say I took a little detour and ran into Prince Lyon," he began, the corner of his lips portending to crack open into an even wider, more complacent and conniving smirk, "And soon enough, he instantly mentions my deference towards the mission to Jehanna. However, in my defense, I simply told that I prolonged my leave because I had a boon to ask of him." Again, Selena arched an eyebrow at this peculiar admission. Pursuing her lips together in a thin, contemplating manner, she then silently prodded him to continue.

"He was utmost curious ergo the prince bade to hear this simple request of mine so I complied. I told him that majority of the dispatch of men bestowed to me were quite callow and not adequate enough to traipse through a catatonic, convulsive desert with raging winds that can lacerate flesh from bone and without collapsing from fatigue in moment's notice. That's when I offered a suggestion to Prince Lyon." The Tiger Eye paused briefly to collect his thoughts and suppress a shadow of a secretive, regaled grin before resuming.

"I told him it would much more beneficial if another general accompanied me on my expedition because the manpower would be doubled and we would be killing two birds with one stone."

Selena frowned pensively, perplexed by Caellach's cryptic statement. "Kill two birds with one stone? How would that transpire? If you're traveling to Jehanna—" Her outward introspection stopped short and an aghast, comprehensive expression dawned rapidly across her visage. Her hands curled into fists once more as she fixated her fulminating and glacial glower unto the auburn haired hero. "_You didn't!_" she hissed sharply, sapphire orbs sparkling perilously.

"I sure did," he replied gaily, "I told Lyon since you're going after the Frelian prince and I'm voyaging to Jehanna and our spies and scouts predicted he's heading over to that wretched, worthless mass of sand inasmuch I explained if we both went to Jehanna together, I'd have the Sacred Stone effaced and you'll have Prince whatever-the-hell-his-name-is under lock and key. Subsequently, he agreed wholeheartedly and that, dear Selena, is why you are coming with me on my little trip to abysmal Jehanna."

Smirking, he leaned forward, his breath mingling with hers. "Savvy?" Selena Fluorspar bristled indignantly and she irefully approached his advance, an aura of volatile retribution emitting wildly around her.

"That does it! Caellach, you're going to pay—"

Wordlessly, Caellach reached out, grabbed Selena's arms, and pulled her roughly to him. She bumped straight into his chest and to secure her, he quickly wrapped his arms around her torso in a partly restraining yet rather endearing enfoldment. Being so nigh to him ramified Selena to detect the ambrosial scent of his aftershave and brief but potent incense of rainwater with a mixture of citronella and spikenard. She drew a ragged intake of breath as the redolence wafted into her nostrils, snaring her senses and beguiling her mind to shift closer towards Caellach, to allow his calloused yet tender fingers graze her check ever so softly and his lips brush chastely against her mouth—

"Ahem."

Startled, Selena was convulsively jerked out her aromatic trance, blinking incredulously at what she just permitted Caellach to do which would blatantly explain the toothy, triumphant grin on his countenance. Face flushing she tilted her head to see who had fatefully interrupted their little impromptu moment of intimacy.

The intruder was amid her own ranks, a fairly young but quite competent female myrmidon. Selena breathed a sigh of relief, perpetually thanking the Heavens above that the person wasn't any of the other generals. She could just imagine Glen or Duessel's reaction to her seemingly romantic predicament with Caellach. Their actions wouldn't have been a pretty sight to behold.

The myrmidon's large, dumbfounded verdant eyes scanned the interlocked limbs and the rather torrid contiguity betwixt the two Grado generals. An abash, chagrin aspect blossomed on the female soldier's deeply tan features, a dark rosy hue close to a light vermillion appeared in parallel to her disconcertion at the scene she unintentionally just witnessed. She coughed politely to clear her throat and futilely ease the sudden, awkward tension lapping over them.

"Uh, General Selena, reports have indeed confirmed that Prince Innes has fixed his sights onto Jehanna. We're told we must accompany General Caellach's regiment." She shifted her focus solely on the Fluorspar, sheer assiduity shining truly in her bright emerald orbs. "What are your orders, ma'm?"

Sighing in resignation, Selena didn't even need to glance back at the Tiger Eye to fathom the answer her soldier's query. _Do I really have a choice or say in the matter anyway? _Grudgingly, she concisely issued her decreed as she masks her inner anxiety and discomfort of being caught in the aforementioned general's embrace. "Prepare to leave with the Tiger Eye's platoons."

The myrmidon nodded automatically and swiftly withdrew her presence from Selena and Caellach, preferably to offer them some "alone time". When the female sword-wielder slinked out of view, Caellach then resumed his carnal antics as if the two of them had never been interposed just a few minutes ago.

"Isn't this nice?" he whispered silkily, stroking her cheek with ardent longing, "We going on a quaint little excursion together into a Godforsaken desert."

He gave a peck to her forehead, pressing his body up against hers so he could be staring down at with his breath blaring ominously against her fair skin and she could feel his hardening manhood against her stomach. Immediately perceiving his libido, Selena felt her heart thumping haphazardly and madly inside her chest and some unnamed desire ached fervidly and mercilessly within her womb and very soul. Her breathing hitched as Caellach loomed in closer to her, his face centimeters from her own. Advantageously, the Tiger Eye narrowed in and covered her mouth with his, enveloping Selena Fluorspar in an amorous, consuming ardor brimming with lust and affection. All she was capable of doing was allowing him to kiss her hungrily while his persuasive tongue flicked against her own tongue in attempts to entice it into a harmonic, passionate coalesce. She was completely engulfed by the sensation of his erotic tactics, his deft, salacious touch awakening delightful tremors through out her body, effectively amplifying his concupiscence towards her.

The journey to Jehanna is going to be a _long_ one.

* * *

"_**Do you…love him?"**_

Valter's inquiring words haunted her mind, ringing mockingly in her ears. Shaking her retrospection free from the past interactions that had ensued between her and the Moonstone, Zecilys raked a hand through her damp, sodden turquoise tresses. After taking a tranquil, relaxing bath she fully believed she was perfectly able in pushing Valter and the kisses they shared back into the recesses of her mind. However, that was not the case and Zecilys found herself not only heavily contemplating over Valter but Ephraim as well.

She claimed to love Ephraim with all her heart yet her very first kiss was from Valter and the subsequent ones were proffered by him as well. She harbored a powerful and sincere affection for Ephraim she conceived to be love, than why has she abruptly began experiencing the same exact emotions when she's around Valter? The obscure, ambiguous impression garnered immensely as the appetency she _knew _he held for her became more prurient and enticing, having her undergoing feelings she never quite comprehended nor experienced before…not even with all her years near Ephraim. Ergo, she just could not fathom _why,_ the whole notion was simply inconceivable and inexplicable.

In her despair and dubiety, Ephraim's image flashed inside her head and a wistful sigh escaped her lips. Ephraim, the unyielding, magnanimous young man who stole her heart years ago when she just merely thirteen years old, was now having to compete against a bloodthirsty, savage, intricate wyvern knight who guilefully yet probably unintentionally slithered himself into her heart.

"No, no," she muttered, shaking her head vigorously, "that's not possible. It's Ephraim who I love, not him. Ephraim, **not** Valter."

Zecilys's fists clenched hopelessly as memories of today events revolved accusingly around her brain like a whirligig of phantasmagoria. "I love Ephraim." she whispered quietly, as if to reassure her affections. Fragments of captivating, wild obsidian eyes and a velvety, seductive timbre ravaged her mind and evanescing whispers of fresh pine, sandalwood, spice, leather, and oak moss wafted about, taunting her with its ambrosial, entreating scent. Faint but memorable remnants of Valter's minty breath still lingered on her lips, tantalizing her with its empowering, bewitching vestige.

Groaning dourly, Zecilys sank down onto a chair residing her chambers, assaying to banish all thoughts and mental figments pertaining Valter. Her measly attempts proved to be futile inasmuch she was left pondering and mulling over both men and her feelings regarding them. She couldn't have fallen for both of them…could she?

"Hell's fires, you must be joshing me," she murmured aguishly, "how can this be right?" As if to answer, crisper, more lucid imagery of the two aforementioned men plagued her conscious. Wavy aquamarine locks, proud, valiant orbs of Mediterranean blue and a handsome, peach-toned visage belonging to a Renais prince forays her thoughts anew however another face subsequently followed. Unruly and partially curly charcoal and navy blue strands framing an alabaster, regaled countenance possessing a pair of inscrutable, ambivalent sable eyes. Tilting her head back in surrender, Zecilys reluctantly commissioned her reverie to be swept away by the recollections of two men she grew accustomed to and eventually, developed obscure and perplexing feelings for them in the process. Once upon a time, she would have proclaimed Ephraim was her one and only without missing a beat or a minute's contemplation. Now, ever since she encountered Valter and was thrust into his care, she rationalized he had some hold over heart just as much as Ephraim does. The only question was this: Who does she truly love?

"Hell's fires," Zecilys swore haplessly, inwardly cursing the unsavory predicament she was unfortunately in, "how in the bloody hell did this happen? I've been pining over Ephraim for six years and now, after thirteen days, I have gained affection for Valter as well?" She shook her head incredulously.

"None of this sounds plausible or remotely makes any sense."

"_**Sometimes, Zecilys, love just doesn't make any sense at all. Love is something cannot be understood in books or numerical figures. Love comes from experience, from emotions deep within, straight from the heart. It's either there or not." She paused, and then tried again after seeing her younger sister knit her eyebrows together in frustration and frown pensively. Alcyone opt this time quote directly from a book she once read in its section describing love. **_

"_**Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." **_

_**The fourteen-year-old Zecilys stared owlishly at her older sister, trying to feebly grasp what Alcyone wholly meant by all that. At Zecilys's confusion, the corners of Alcyone's lips tugged upward into a wry yet pleasant smile and she tucked a rebellious turquoise curl behind her ear. **_

"_**Zecilys, I know my explanation seems a bit befuddling but one day, you will comprehend what I'm talking about."**_

"_**When?" **_

"_**When you find someone precious enough to you that you will do almost anything for them, hold them near and dear to your heart, and have eyes for no one else." Alcyone explained thoroughly. This just served to stimulate another question from Zecilys.**_

"_**But how will I know that I truly love somebody?" **_

_**Alcyone's smile simply widen further. "Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind." **_

"'Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind'? Big help that is right now, sis, considering that I'm still unable to perceive the exact the meaning of that phrase." Zecilys sighed once more, her overdriven and exhausted brain relentlessly searching for some answers in her older sister's explanation of love. "Hell's fires, what was with all those cryptic statements, anyway? A straightforward response would have been most lovely and _extremely_ helpful."

Silence greeted her words but she expected that. It was just her and her thoughts stuck inside the confinements of her chambers that she so desperately wanted escape from. She craved to be outside again, amid the wilderness, and be back on Eroniz once more to feel the wind blowing all around her and the ebullience and eager anticipation to fly wherever you so desire, unbound and unbridled to the world below you. She wanted feel that maddening, incredible rush of adrenaline pulsing through her veins, to experience the thrill in the skies and the sweet challenges of flight.

Unfortunately, she was locked inside this decadent room until the next day when somewhere around noon Valter would consort her to one of the Grado's many training grounds and evaluate her combat skills once more.

_Albeit it's going to be remarkably awkward for us when he returns here tomorrow after all that has occurred today. Hopefully he doesn't ask me that question about Ephraim again; I don't think I will be as lucky as I was today. _

Refusing to permit the foreboding, dreary aura of tomorrow hover over her, Zecilys retrieved _The Many Variant Methods of Erotica_ under the bed's covers and strode back to her chair. Since she was going to be cooped in her accommodations she might as well read to make time fly by. Even if the method was reading one of the few novels she would normally read _last_ on her list.

Flipping the erotica open to the bookmarked page, Zecilys continued where she left off and eventually became engrossed with the rather peculiar yet fascinating information the book had delved into. Gradually, she slipped into her own, covert place, leaving reality far behind and saving it for the next day.

* * *

Slowly but surely the plot is moving along. Some texts from the game have been utilized in this so no suing allowed. Remember the whole section pertaining to love? I borrowed the line "It's either there or not" from my mom when I was having an extreme difficulty in describing love for Zecilys's minor flashback (hey, we're talking about me here, a battling-loving, bloodthirsty, excessively insane, etc person right here who hasn't really experienced those sort of emotions). Also, the paragraph that start with "Love is patient" and ended with "Love never ends" is from the Holy Bible, 1 Corinthians 12.19 (that part _really_ helped me out when I desperately needed some text that could accurately describe love for me) and the quote "Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind" is from dear ole William Shakespeare in the play, _A Midsummer's Night Dream._

Now that my end-of-the-chapter disclaimer is finished, I hope you all enjoyed this latest edition of **Wild Justice**. More battles, more relationship heighteners and dilemmas, yada yada, yada. The words 'Dunkelnacht' and 'Gotts Glück' are German, just in case anyone was wondering.

Thus, I conclude, reviews are most welcomed while flamers will be visited by Riev dancing to "Sexy Back". Harrowing, ja? The scene can be a whole lot worse and perturbing, you know. -smirks- Till the arrival of chapter fifteen, I bid you all adieu.

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	15. Fifteen: Evil Sees All, Evil Knows All

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, occasional sexual tension, and character death. (ValterxOCxEphraim)

**Fifteen: Evil Sees All, Evil Knows All**

**Knives91:** Ah, but it's such fun! Thank you, your comments are always appreciated. Enjoy chapter fifteen!

**Lucky-erin47:** Don't worry; Riev's not coming after you. I currently have him locked up somewhere so he doesn't traipse around and mentally scar some innocent bystander. There have been some victims, tragically enough. Thank you for the review, I wholly appreciate it.

**Oriel Kurosaki:** Eh, I do have the tendency to waver in and out betwixt past and pretense tense. Long story why I started doing that but I'll work on it. Thanks for pointing the error out.

Oh, as for me being "the Darian" from lockheedelektra's **Triple Entente**? Glad you asked, for you are the first to approach me on that subject. To answer your question, yes, I am. However, the "character" isn't really a character at all, it's actually based off of me. Yep, that's right, "the Darian" is real, of flesh, blood, bone, darkness, and insanity.

Reviewers, I thank you for reviewing. I appreciate the time and consideration you put into those lovely reviews in which I gobble up like chocolate, meat, souls, and other delicacies.

Without further ado, I present to you chapter fifteen of **Wild Justice**!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

**_Flashbacks/Lyrics_**

**Disclaimer: Don't I wish. No need to rub it in my face. I'll be using a few lines from the game so no suing. Moving right along.**

* * *

_Refusing to permit the foreboding, dreary aura of tomorrow hover over her, Zecilys retrieved_ The Many Variant Methods of Erotica _under the bed's covers and strode back to her chair. Since she was going to be cooped in her accommodations she might as well read to make time fly by. Even if the method was reading one of the few novels she would normally read _last _on her list._

_Flipping the erotica open to the bookmarked page, Zecilys continued where she left off and eventually became engrossed with the rather peculiar yet fascinating information the book had delved into. Gradually, she slipped into her own, covert place, leaving reality far behind and saving it for the next day._

* * *

"If we do but watch the hour,

There never yet was human power

Which could evade, if unforgiven,

The patient search and vigil long,

Of him who treasures up a wrong."

**-Lord Byron**

* * *

Periwinkle waves sloshed latently against the ship's sides as drifting, smoky clouds circumspectly overcastted the radiant sun. From the ship's quarter deck, Ephraim pensively gazed out at the percolating yet placid sea, the brine tingling in his nostrils. Today was their second day out at sea and there still was no sign of the Grado mainland, where there was a sufficient yet furtive path he hoped to travel upon that was able to breach the Grado Keep. Only two days prior to heading out into the ocean he was reunited with an old teacher of his: Duessel the Obsidian.

Duessel, who had been his instructor two and a half years ago in Grado, had been attacked by his own men when news leaked out that he wanted a private word with him regarding to the current issues at hand. Instantly branded a traitor, Duessel and only a handful of his most loyal men were cornered into a tiny region of Bethroen's harbor, coerced to aggress against their own compatriots. Luckily, Ephraim managed to catch wind of this assault and was able to rescue his former mentor from Grado's Imperial Army. Now, General Duessel and his remaining men were safely aboard _The Black Pearl_ along with Ephraim's ragtag team of soldiers.

"I thought I might find you here, Prince Ephraim."

The corners of the said Renais prince's lips quirked upwards into a smile as the familiar, jaunty voice of Forde filtered through his ears and echoed merrily into the air. "And hello to you too, Forde." The dirty blonde haired cavalier stood beside his prince, meticulously inspecting how the faint lines grooved Ephraim's forehead were deepen due to heavy concentration and his sea-blue eyes carried a far-off, contemplative look. Ephraim's knuckles unconsciously rapped against the oak beam of the schooner, his mind elsewhere. From past speculations Forde was able to perceive what his prince's pensive state of being was revolving around.

"Mulling on what Duessel said about Zecilys's possible predicament with that villain, Valter?"

Sighing in capitulation, Ephraim nodded listlessly. "I tried remaining fairly optimistic about Zecilys's plight, even after the encounter with Tirado. After hearing what he said about Valter and her current…position with him, I had to learn more about this 'Moonstone of Grado'. Duessel was once part of the newly assembled Imperial Six hence he's acquainted with Valter, who is also a general amongst the Imperial Six. What Duessel said—" Ephraim faltered, recollecting the words so lucidly as if he heard them only a few seconds ago.

"**_Valter…is a complex man, Ephraim. I could tell you about him when I first knew him when he was with me and Glen, the original Imperial Three. I could also tell you why and how he was stripped of his status and when Emperor Vigarde later formed the Imperial Six, which entailed to Valter's restoration of his general rank. I could inform you of so much more about this man, Ephraim, but the information would still not be enough for you to comprehend him, this man with a heart of a beast." _**

**_Ephraim frowned deeply, already disliking the direction where this conversation was heading. "You know him better than I, General Duessel. My friend, Zecilys, is his captive and I fear what will become of her under his watch. Can you possibly tell me what could potentially befall her?"_**

**_A grim shadow canopied over Duessel's face as he looked squarely at Ephraim, the Obsidian's posture rigid and sullen. His baritone was grave and forlorn when he spoke._**

**_"I'm afraid that this friend of yours, Zecilys, might want to pray for divine assistance. From all the rumors I hear, Valter is keenly intrigued and fascinated with vivacious, strong-willed young women. Whether they are friend or foe, it does not matter to him. As long as the female is attractive both physically and mentally and ensnares his penchant, she will most likely become his next topic of interest. Given to the fact your companion Zecilys is under his control, he probably will enjoy playing around with her." _**

**_A lump formed in Ephraim's throat and he uttered the question he so desperately craved an answer to. "Do you think he'll…hurt her?" _**

**_Duessel's portentous, rueful reply washed over the anxious Renais heir like a wave of ice-cold, frigid water. "If he lusts after her, he _will_ have her, Ephraim. I am sorry that I didn't bring you any good news."_**

Forde grimaced when Ephraim finished his dreary explanation. "Jeesh, Duessel was right. That doesn't sound like an appealing situation for Zecilys. This Valter fellow really is a piece of work, isn't he?" Ephraim nodded earnestly, cerulean eyes once more locked onto the lackluster green breakers sloshing against the wooden sides of _The Black Pearl_.

"At first, Zecilys's antagonist was just a faceless, enigmatic phantom, a shadowy silhouette of a man. Yet now, my enemy has a face. I know more about Valter than I have before hence the knowledge will assist me in the near future. I have the means to defeat him." He closed his eyes, placidly breathing in the briny tang of the ocean spray and salty scent from the consistent, balmy wind, and then conjuring up the glorious image of the feisty, turquoise haired wyvern rider, the love of his life.

"By this, I can truly save Zecilys now."

Forde smiled discreetly, able to glean how deep his prince's affection for Zecilys went. In that case, he would really enjoy the little "gift" he has for him. "Speaking of Zecilys, there's a present I'd like to give you. I drew it myself." Allowing Ephraim not to utter a word of protest, he brusquely shoved the vellum parcel into the aquamarine haired, young man's arms, a mischievous, toothy grin on Forde's visage. "I'll believe you will find the gift rather…entreating." he added jauntily. Wondering what sort of joke Forde had up his sleeve, Ephraim cast a suspicious glance his way as he gingerly opened up the parcel and delicately drew out a piece of paper from the package. Actually, the piece of paper was a portrait, an embellished sketch of Zecilys…in an extremely enticing pose.

Ephraim blinked, first comprehending what he was ogling at with his own two eyes. Then, as he slowly adjusted himself to the fortuitous sight drawn on paper and became accustomed to the drawing, he–nearly too eagerly–started surveying the quite exotic portrait.

Zecilys was clad in a pale, silver dress that appeared so real and soft Ephraim almost esteemed he could simply reach out and feel the sacque fabric between his calloused fingers. The moonlight gown Forde sketched was excessively revealing; the silken garb contained narrow slits that traveled all the way up to her upper thighs and brazenly offered a behemoth amount of cleavage. The sleeves in this silvery gown were short straps, barely covering her shoulders. In fact, one strap was modestly sliding off Zecilys's shoulder like that was its job. If the provocative gown wasn't enough to ruffle Ephraim's composure, Zecilys's position certainly would. She had both creamy legs displayed oh so casually out of the moonlight gown's slits, tantalizing Ephraim with their apparent softness. The broad, deep cut in her bodice shamelessly disclosed her chest, breasts coyly peering through the silver taffeta. The rest of her body was contorted in a suggestive manner, aimed to galvanize anyone of the opposite sex, Ephraim in particular. Face beautifully and accurately drawn, her coral mouth was parted slightly, a silent plea of pleasure upon her lips. Her lustrous golden eyes glittered with an invitation, an invitation specifically meant for lovers only. Her whole pose was salacious, amorously beckoning Ephraim to approach her and give her passion like no other.

Ephraim swallowed and then counted to ten, hoping the abrupt concupiscence throbbing in his gut would cease and disperse altogether. While he was counting, he pondered if whether or not he should just shove Forde off the ship for drawing and bestowing this prurient picture to him. Seeing Zecilys portrayed like this was so…so—

"Oh, and if you're wondering about Zecilys's anatomy, I let you know that I did not elaborated her physical attributes at all. This portrait is definitely not an exaggeration. She is indeed voluptuous as ever."

_…Perhaps I should push Forde off the schooner now._ After all, there was nobody around therefore there would be no witness testifying to the dirty blonde haired cavalier's sudden, perplexing disappearance. Besides, there could be the possible chance that no one might notice his mysterious absence.

Noticing his prince's fluster, Forde beamed triumphantly. His sensational drawing of Zecilys was an absolute success! _Let's see how composed he'll keep himself once he meets Zecilys again! He will certainly have a difficult time trying not gawping at her and maintaining his cool, collected decorum. Hee hee, I'm a genius! _

"So," he began casually, the conniving, frisky grin still in place, "enjoying the picture, Prince Ephraim?"

He was answered with a sour, aggravated glower and Forde's impish grin instantly transformed into an extremely pleased smirk. "Love it that much, eh?" _Yes, I am most certainly a genius. _

* * *

"It's so beautiful today!" Tana chirped pertly, gazing jubilantly at the vacant Copenhagen blue sky and the sparkling, scintillating waves of the halcyon aqua sea. Brilliant violet blue eyes danced with ebullience as she surveyed the oceanic, picturesque panorama, the fractious breeze brutally playing with her ultramarine hair. The tan-skinned man to her right grunted, subtly rolling his eyes at her exuberance.

"What's so special about the ocean? It's just vast abundances of water. Nothing too spectacular to be reveling on." he remarked gruffly and Tana shot an acrimonious glare at the disgruntled palomino.

"Just because you felt queasy when we first sailed off and vomited copiously after that doesn't mean you have the right to put a damper in my fascination and for the fact I can stomach being on a ship!" the Frelian princess retorted hotly and Cormag scowled darkly, thoroughly irked that she mentioned his interim seasickness.

"I only regurgitated yesterday, thank you very much. I'm actually feeling much better than before." Cormag grounded out, fingers curling into tense fists in sheer exasperation and choler. Tana quirked an eyebrow up incredulously and she crossed her arms, a skeptical expression on her creamy visage.

"Are you?" she questioned bluntly. Cormag flashed her warning glower prior to responding.

"Yes, I—" However, before he could finish his sentence, _The Black Pearl_ jerked around convulsively, zigzagging momentarily. _The Black Pearl_ then resumed back to its normal, smooth course. Unfortunately, that brief, paroxysmal rocking was enough for Cormag. Immediately, he clutched his stomach agonizingly as the ship began to rock, blanching slightly even when the schooner's whimsical movements subsided and regained its gentle pace. Cormag glanced up from his distressful situation and found Tana looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"What?" he hissed out hoarsely, belly churning unpleasantly and bile rising unexpectedly into his throat. _By the gods, I can't get sick again now! Not especially with her around to witness me in this condition!_

"Yes, sure you're feeling better. Healthy as a horse." she bantered sarcastically, the delightful simper widening with every second. Cormag promptly turned his head away, possessing no desire to see the Pegasus rider gloat over her trivial victory against his current health status. Why did he have to suddenly get seasick all over again, he thought he had that blasted problem solved today!

"Oh, come on, Cormag, don't sulk." Tana's mellifluous voice echoed teasingly in his ears, assaying to goad a retaliation from him but Cormag refused to nibble on the bait. Clenching his jaw shut, he decided to ignore the regal female and focus his mind on other, more crucial matters. Perhaps Natasha has balm or some remedy that could cure this cumbersome ailment of his—

"CORMAG, LOOK OUT!" shrieked Tana, tackling him to floorboards, almost knocking the wind out of him. A speeding, nearly invisible arrow wheezed over their heads and struck the deck of the ship a few meters away. Two pairs of eyes dilated considerably at the covert arrow and the patent notion that the cloak-and-dagger assault had specifically targeted _them_.

"An attack!" Tana exclaimed warily, scouring wildly around her vicinities, "By whom? Is it Grado again?" Tearing his eyes away from the still quivering arrow, Cormag shifted his gaze to Tana, his face already grave and alert.

"We must warn Prince Ephraim and the rest of the band about this. I sense an upcoming battle." he stated staidly.

Tana nodded accordingly. "Right!" Only after when she said that was their current position finally acknowledged. Noticing how fairly intimate their bodies and nigh their faces were, a conspicuous, rosy blush crept onto Tana's ivory features. She rapidly removed herself off Cormag's sprawled body, mumbling a few incoherent words. Unconsciously, Cormag noted how rather cute she appeared when she was flustered or blushing.

"Hurry, Cormag, we have to inform Prince Ephraim pronto!" she announced hastily, vainly attempting to conceal her embarrassment of the incident. Heeding her, Cormag quickly got up and then followed after as she raced to the front of the ship with dire news. The silver lining in this storm cloud was he wasn't seasick anymore. He could not decide if he has either the secluded enemy or Tana to thank.

_Hopefully, the option will be neither._ Later on, he would realize he had completely forgotten to thank Tana for saving his life.

* * *

Not too far from Ephraim's ship, _The Black Pearl_, another vessel began emerging from the unnatural, surreal fog, slicing through the marble waters with eerie ease. This vessel, called _Hell's Mouth_, derived straight from the Grado coast yet the crew on board weren't altogether human. The ship was crawling with revenants and bonewalkers alike, a paucity of entombed shuffled along the deck in a synchronized but mindless fashion. A lone human stood out blatantly amid the massive crowd of unsightly squalid monsters, a unctuous, twisted sneer contorting his sallow, putrescent features as he watched with enormous pride as the Demon King's minions swaggered about to hasten to his and his Master's bidding, preparing to attack the schooner up ahead.

"Heh heh heh… Rise and rage, my precious children of darkness. Ruin the wood and ride the sea! Drown your foes, and devour their flesh! Come and celebrate the glorious rebirth of your lord and master, the Demon King!" manifested the corrupt, putrid bishop, relishing how perfect and precise all his plans were unfolding. The creatures stared blandly at Riev, their glossy, fathomless pupils displaying nothing but absolute, blind obedience. Posthaste, they obeyed and went straight to work. Satisfied with the results, Riev esteemed it was time for him to return to the Grado Keep. His dear, lovely children will be fine without him; they did not need his assistance now. They would crush those mortal fools on that ship looming in the distance.

"Heh, heh, heh." Riev cackled, morbidly pleased with that macabre concept. With his controversial celestial staff, he warped himself away from the impending skirmish and back into the foundations of the arcane and foreboding Grado Keep.

* * *

Ephraim clenched his teeth in deep frustration as he analytically watched the decaying, foul fiends climb aboard and commence their uncouth aggression. Gripping Reginleif impatiently, Ephraim waited phlegmatically as a revenant bumbled in his direction, anticipating his adversary's attack. When the repulsive being was within striking distance, Ephraim projected Reginleif outward and the lance's tip punctured neatly through the revenant's putrescent skin, protruding out of its back. The revenant released a ghastly, unearthly howl and made a feeble swipe at Ephraim's shoulder blade. He twisted his body to evade the onset and retracted Reginleif out of the grotesque creature's chest. Hobbling forward, the revenant continued to fight, oblivious to the fact it had a gaping hole on the region where its heart should have been.

"Come, get closer, monster," muttered Ephraim, focusing all levels of concentration onto his inhuman foe. As if by luck or the grace of the gods, the revenant closed in the distance between and Ephraim instantly pounced on his good fortune. He first feigned to the right, took a hasty retreat back, then swerved Reginleif to the left and impelled the lance squarely into the abomination's collarbone. Another blood-curdling, bone-chilling screech arose from the abnormal, otherworldly creation, only this time its time has come. Neurotic spasms and paroxysms wracked its soulless body and the creature of darkness writhed and distorted while Ephraim swiftly receded from the presence of the fiend. Finally, the revenant swelled up and subsequently burst into a massive explosion of bones, flesh, and other corporal remains.

The Renais prince then narrowed in on a bonewalker knocking an arrow in place and propelled Reginleif into its spinal cord before the skeleton could even aim at Cormag or Tana who both were charging multiple aerial attacks above and around the ship.

A low, grounding, moaning noise attracted Ephraim's attention and much to his despair, the ruckus originated from another vessel. "What? Another ship?" he cried, cursing his ill luck and how the odds were heaped up against him. Collective gasps and groans were enunciated from the weary warriors of his squad at this newfound ascertainment. Resolute to rally the spirits of his troops, Ephraim suppressed his dismay and boldly confronted the new, disastrous dilemma head-on. "Stay calm, everyone! We take the fight to them!" Advancing to the second ship, Ephraim leveled Reginleif in front of him, prepared for a surprise onslaught from the enemy within. Two obscure, nebulous shapes materialized into view and the aquamarine haired young man steadied himself for what was yet to come.

Of course, he wasn't fully expecting a young woman with curly yellow chartreuse hair riding on a chocolate colored steed and mammoth, beefy bearded man catapulted themselves off the ship and onto The Black Pearl with zealous euphoria. The giant let loose a whole-hearty, astonishingly low guffaw and with one hand, his gigantic axe swept a half of a dozen abominations off their feet, hurling them directly into the air. Some became victims of Tana's and Cormag's lance while the rest fell into the brewing, consuming sea, never to reappear from the ocean's murky depths.

"You are…" Ephraim said quite vociferously, attracting the ecstatic female and her behemoth companion's attention.

"Fear not, O weary traveler, for I am here to save you! I grant you the favor of my divine aid!" proclaimed the woman on horseback while performing a gallant gesture at him and striking a rather righteous yet bizarre pose.

Ephraim arched both eyebrows, wondering why someone such as her would be in this abysmal predicament. "Who are you? What are you doing here?!" he demanded impulsively, desiring to conceive if she was friend or foe.

"Ah! Can it be? Do you not know the tales my deeds? Have you not heard of the beauteous young woman traveling to defeat evil?" she exclaimed, pure jubilance twinkling in her chartreuse orbs. Slowly but bewilderedly, Ephraim shook his head.

"No, I haven't."

Crestfallen, the young troubadour's face fell and her shoulders drooping slightly in dejection. "Oh…."

His puzzlement proliferating, Ephraim probed further, perturbed by the precipitant loss of this arcane woman's augment enthusiasm. "What is it?"

Shaking her head mournfully, the troubadour waved her hand away at his question, trying futilely to shake off her troubles. "It's nothing… Please pay me no mind. I just feel a bit like being alone and weeping for awhile."

This dramatic statement alarmed the prince considerably and he awkwardly hastened to her side, ready to rattle some common sense into this peculiar maiden. "What? No, you can't… This is no place for crying." He paused briefly, recollecting his thoughts and decisions. When his mind was made up, he speedily resumed. "I'm sure you've noticed, but we're under attack by monsters. If you can do anything to help, we would appreciate it."

Luckily, his proffer seemed to perk her up for the delighted gleam returned in her eyes and raw joy blossomed instantaneously on her creamy countenance. "That's a good idea! I'll do it. Now, I want you to observe closely my graceful actions!" With that theatric said, she kicked her horse's sides and the steed cantered off, symbolically signaling that the powers of righteousness and divinity were at work once more.

"Okay…that was strange." Ephraim mumbled to himself. Sighing and pondering what he could have possibly muddled himself into, he mimicked the flamboyant female's antics and headed straight into the heart of the fray. _Time to settle this fight once and for all!_

* * *

"Vile fiends, your impending doom is here! I, L'Arachel, have arrived to dispatch you beastly things into the fires of justice and order!"

With a strident battle cry, the said troubadour cudgeled a revenant on the head and then with the end of her staff, gauged the monster in the eye. The injured creature yowled gratingly and with a iron will possessing her soul, L'Arachel drove her staff deeper into its eye socket, eventually colliding into the brain. From the fatal impact, the revenant shuddered convulsively, and then disintegrated right before her eyes. Bellowing a triumphant yell, L'Arachel continued this meander, whacking and bestowing comeuppance to her inhuman adversaries.

She was close, oh so very close in reaching the heart of Grado. Once this schooner lands along the Grado coasts, she and Dozla shall sojourn to the Grado Keep, where she was wholly positive Irthos is currently located at. If she can cipher what evil is brewing and toiling in that turbulent land and bring an end to this madness, then she'll prevent Irthos's demise for sure and he most definitely will able to come back into her arms and they can live happily together forevermore!

A bonewalker lunged itself at her, breaking her rose-tinted reverie and she batted her enemy away as if the skeleton was composed of straw. Her mare crushed the fallen bonewalker with her hooves, shattering every bone the monstrosity contained. Partially satisfied, L'Arachel spared a moment to scan the vicinity and see if anyone requested her healing abilities. Espying a scarlet clad cavalier supporting a short, blonde pony-tail clutching his abdomen with a grimace on his face, she genteelly rode over to his defense.

"Whoa, who in the Demon King's name are you?!" the cavalier exclaimed astoundingly, jumping slightly at her sudden appearance.

"I am the majestic angel who is here to aid you, fellow patron!" L'Arachel declared boisterously, brandishing her Healing staff to display her status as troubadour.

"Uh, sure. Thanks, I guess." he muttered, lowering his guard a bit. He would have to ask Ephraim where this odd woman derived from. She certainly didn't fall from the sky, that's for certain.

"No thanks needed, brave and valiant knight. Such generosity from me is natural. I'm the vassal of the gods, fighting in the name of goodness and the light!" Prior to the man could even comment on her proclamation, she bend over to address his wound. A rich, bright blue shimmer emanated from her staff and swirled around the cavalier's gash. The alluring, dazzling luminance diligently knitted and putrefied his tissue, muscle, and flesh, totally effacing all the blood oozing out and the injury itself. The convalescing process was practically finished as soon as it began.

Inspecting the section where his abrasion was previously at, the blonde soldier grinned at the sight of bare, unmarked skin. "Nice job, er…"

"L'Arachel," L'Arachel answered idiopathically, "the beauteous and selfless Lady L'Arachel."

The maroon armored cavalier nodded dubiously, cocking an eyebrow. "If you insist. I'm Forde, by the way." L'Arachel nodded affirmatively, showing her approval.

"Well, Sir Forde, we best be off and purge these foul, hideous beings from our sight!"

Another frolicsome grin twisted itself onto Forde's lips. "Couldn't have said it better myself. All right, let's go and smash these louts to pieces!"

* * *

Gnarled, wrinkled hands hastily scribbled against the vellum parchment, the writer's movements screaming out urgency. Riev frowned as he curtly halted his written dictions, beady eyes fastidiously scanning the contents of the letter. Shaking his head and grumbling under his breath, Riev picked up the cock quill and resumed his tangent with his usual mercurial, unsteady pace.

The door to his chambers swung open raucously, colliding against the granite wall with a solid bang. Whirling around, Riev was about to open his mouth and rebuke the foolish cretin who dare enter so crudely without invitation but his actions stopped short at the sight of Irthos, his apprentice.

"So, you have returned, Irthos," the bishop stated methodically, resting the cock quill into its ink bottle, "I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long."

Irthos shrugged, setting his bindles down beside him and then presumed to circulate his shoulders all around, easing the tension and discomfort that had build up during his journey back. "Rough trip?" Riev asked incuriously, eyes now primarily focused on Irthos's burlap pack. Wordlessly, Irthos nodded, hauling the baggage onto Riev's cot.

"Certain activities had prolonged my quaint expedition and my return," he replied tonelessly, a hint of sarcasm mingling within the word 'quaint'. Detecting the sarcasm immediately, Riev snorted and rose up from his chair.

"Really, now? How amusing." he muttered, approaching the burlap gear Irthos had oh so casually dumped onto his makeshift bed. The perverse bishop inspected his apprentice's bulging portmanteau, erstwhile sensing a hidden, fluctuating vibe of mystical, sanctified powers. Inwardly, he grinned triumphantly, a sinister gleam in his eyes as he untied the top strings of the pack. "I take it you were successful then, Irthos."

"Somewhat, Teacher."

Riev quirked a wispy brown eyebrow, his attention span now fully focused on the golden-eyed, pragmatic druid rather than on the mundane satchel–which possessed the hallowed relics of the Melkbane House–resting on his cotton pallet. "What are you babbling about? I thought I told you to get all three, Irthos!" he hissed furiously, an edge of frustration creeping surreptitiously into his voice. Irthos narrowed his piercing gilt eyes at him, displeasure and an inscrutable emotion akin to dudgeon flickered succinctly prior to resuming their normal nonplussed luster.

"I did as you ordered, Master Riev. However, I was only able to obtain mine and my older sister Alcyone's relic." Riev almost allowed a snarl escape his lips but suppressed the urge to do so.

"What about your middle sister, Zec–whatever her name was? Why were you incompetent not to receive hers?"

A portentous, frictional hush descended over the cynical druid, his stoic physique uncharacteristically rigid and erect like he suddenly turned into a marble statue, silent and lifeless. Irthos contorted his lips into a narrow, taut line, his amber orbs devoid of all emotion and illumination when he spoke again in response to his master's acrimonious questionnaire.

"The ancient magic which encases and protected my family's artifacts refused me. The mystical power did not acknowledge my Melkbane blood. _At all_." Irthos explained mordantly, motionless and ever reclusive as Riev fixated his piqued scrutiny onto his apprentice. "You do realize what this means, don't you, Teacher Riev?" The stony mask and steely reserve was still in place when he finished, ominousness imbued with every word. At this dire profound statement, the Blood Beryl blanched for a moment, his sunken eyes convulsively popping out like round onyx pebbles. Rapidly recollecting his shaken and briefly disconcerted mien, Riev swerved his head away from Irthos's bereft gaze and focused his regard back to the burlap bag, wrinkled hands catatonically ransacking the portmanteau's contents.

"No, that's impossible, simply impossible. I saw to it myself that we slaughtered them all, every one of them, down to last woman and child." the perturbed bishop murmured frantically to himself, withdrawing Irthos's tome, _Dunkelnacht_, and Alcyone's magic ring, _Gotts Glück_. He snapped his head back at Irthos, a newfound glint of ire simmering in his surreally intuitive pupils. "If you couldn't open up Zecilys's door then that means she's alive!"

Irthos nodded stiffly, his form and visage completely unreadable. "Precisely." Riev groaned and rubbed his temples, sorely aggravated by this massive and possibly hazardous technicality.

"This bodes ill for us, Irthos," Riev hissed, slamming _Dunkelnacht_ into the said druid's arms while pocketing _Gotts Glück_ in a pocket of his drab, woolen robes, "your middle sister walking around alive can be disastrous to our plans! Can't your foreseeing abilities do anything about this default?"

This time, Riev managed to galvanize Irthos into a fervent, violent reaction. "Wasn't my Foresight exactly what attracted you in the first place and later entailed to my house's debacle?" Irthos spat icily, long-bottled fire of contempt blazing indignantly in his attentive golden orbs. The Blood Beryl arched both eyebrows at his fractious, rebellious sentence, immediately detecting wrathful, seething impressions within his apprentice. In spite of the circumstances, Riev simpered unctuously, entertained by Irthos's precipitate act of revolt and bitter despisal.

"So you reveal your true colors to me, eh, Irthos? And through all these years I have thoroughly reckoned that you were my faithful, diligent pupil."

Irthos chortled mirthlessly, wild instability and smoldering furor dancing deliriously in his gilt pupils. "Oh, I was faithful and diligent all right, until what you did to me on that accursed day!"

Riev frowned crisply but shrugged his shoulders, as if the excommunicated pontiff had been anticipating this sort of pandemonium from Irthos in the long run. "You should be honored, Irthos, to be a vessel for the Master," he replied nonchalantly, dismissing Irthos's outburst like his disconcertment and distress was of trivial or no importance. "You're such an ungrateful child, after all I have done for you."

Irthos glowered murderously at his teacher, the morbid desire to maim and kill rolling off him in ill-begotten, crescendo waves. "_Like what_?" he snarled, face temporarily twisted in vitriolic rage and dudgeon.

"Like for the fact I taught you all the magic and spells you know now. All that potency you currently possess is all that you have acquired from my flawless guidance." Confronting Irthos overtly, Riev superciliously discerned his fallen apprentice and his subtle pertinacity, a nefarious gleam glimmering in his sunken cobalt eyes. "Perhaps the Master can inform me on the rationale, the impetus behind your quite abrupt behavior change."

Irthos's golden eyes widened considerably with horror. "No—!" Before he could protest further and fight the pernicious monster within him, the all-too-familiar torrent and neurotic spasms commenced in wracking his body, his peach-toned face paling into an ashen color and rendering him into a paroxysmal, haphazard coughing fit. _No! This cannot be happening! Not like last time…he can't know about L'Arachel!_ Irthos felt his conscious subsequently beginning to slip away, the noxious darkness lurking inside his soul ferociously clawing its way up into his mind, battling for dominance. Losing grip on his very being, erstwhile Irthos sensed the creature that reared its ugly head three years ago and completely pulverized the Melkbane House from the map and history (with some assistance from Riev, the Blood Beryl, of course) was reappearing with a more potent, eager strength than last time. Last time, the total butchery was merely a game to the demon, a fun sport. This time, the monstrosity had some peculiar news to deliver, diverting events to expose. An obscure veil of never-ending blackness was promptly imbibed in his mind, hurling him straight into the ghastly abyss of unconsciousness as the abhorrent, demonic creature steadily took over.

Riev observed Irthos's swiftly changing state, grinning toothy as Irthos picked himself up from the floor, preening and straightening himself out. A cocky expression adorned his features while his lips curled into a sinister sneer as amber orbs gleaned with malice and monolithic, archaic evil.

**"Foolish human, still esteeming he has the power to restrain me. Pah, does he ever learn? No mere mortal can bridle the Demon King!"** jeered Irthos, or rather the Demon King, who has inhabited the druid's body for approximately three years, every since the young druid turned fifteen. Riev nodded in conformity as he bowed solemnly to his master, dipping his torso low respectfully. Irthos/the Demon King rolled his eyes in exasperation but permitted Riev to finish the bow.

"What has my apprentice, Irthos, been up to, almighty Demon King?" Riev inquired curiously and the possessed Irthos smirked devilishly.

**"Oh, he has been involved with some intriguing affairs, Riev,"** snickered the Demon King, the devious smirk never leaving his lips, **"I credit you'll find my tale regarding your dear apprentice to be quite entertaining."**

* * *

A lone finger delicately traced the contour of the picture's image, a wistful sigh escaping the owner's lips. Sable, savage eyes suddenly brimming with dolor jadedly scanned the painted portrait, recollecting past memories just from a simple gaze. The object of such attention and devotion was an undeniably striking young lady possessing a sincere, joyous smile on her placid, sharply refined visage. Shimmering, cascading locks of navy blue and ebony slithered past her shoulders and down to her hips, every strand a semblance to a delicate thread of silk. Her eyes contained a gorgeous shade of blue, twinkling with mirth, compassion and love. Her pose tall and ramrod straight and chin slightly jutted out coyly, she gracefully carried an air of nobility and authority. Her regal, genteel garments were a dead giveaway to her level of status. Clad in a billowing, taffeta gown of lilac and ivory that addressed her curvaceous figure and compliment her modest breasts with a sweeping low-cut bodice, her dress apparel evidently displaying her prominent wealth and panjandrum.

Valter tilted the portrait away from his view momentarily, recalling and absentmindedly summoning a conjuration of his dear, beloved mother. Even though her brutal passing had betided many a year ago, there still were times Valter would still feel a vehement twinge of anguish or a sharp pang of grief in the memory of his mother's demise. Perceiving old wounds were starting to open and would begin to bleed profusely, he quickly slipped the picture of his deceased mother into the small pouch which was always tethered to his extemporaneous belt securely strapped around his trousers. As his fingers gently tucked the picture away, they brushed against another trinket and Valter sighed once more. Complicating to the scars of his past, his fingers grasped the item and withdrew the sentimental object from its confinements. In his hand was a silver necklace, scintillating and glimmering radiantly in the torch light. The necklace's chain was light and lithe yet not too thin for the silvery chain to easily snap from brusque impact or a violent tug. A three centimeter, tear-drop pendant suspended in the middle of the jewelry's chain, tiny precious stones ranging from opals to sapphires craftily designed and disseminated amid the pewter locket's surface. The silver necklace was his mother's, a parting gift from her before she departed from this world and then entered the spiritual realms–may she rest peacefully in Heaven forevermore.

**_"Take this, my daring son, as a present from me. Give my necklace to a woman you love, someone you cherish and will protect no matter what. Have the life I always yearned for but never had–the selfsame life I want for you. Possess the love I wished with all my heart I could experience yet the prospect eluded me."_**

**_Smiling sorrowfully, she closed her eyes before uttering her final words. "Be happy, Valter. Live out your dreams. I love you, my wonderful son." _**

Her sage, heart-wrenching words still haunted him even to this day, echoing plaintively in the recess of his mind. Belligerently coercing his recollections back, Valter indifferently slipped his late mother's necklace alongside the picture into the same compartment. From experience and time, he garnered that the past couldn't truly die, not wholly at least. Remnants of the yesteryears will continue to linger, lurking surreptitiously behind every corner, looming and hovering over its victim like a vulture eyeing a fresh, sanguinary carcass with extreme gluttony and avidness, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and devour its victim remorselessly.

"God's wounds, I need a battle," Valter grumbled, exiting the dimmed hallway and into the foyer of the throne room, barely noticing the absence of humanity, a rare occurrence in the Grado Keep. A solid, thunderous bang of a door swinging fiercely open instantaneously attracted the Moonstone's attention and he waited incuriously for the impending person to enter. Apparently, given to the vicious resonance of the door's swinging, whoever was arriving was in a furious mood.

_Yet who would come unannounced and offhandedly at such an ungodly hour?_ Valter's implicit question was quickly answered when a tan-skinned man of Valter's age with a patch of wavy blonde hair and garbed in wyvern attire stormed into the foyer, approaching the door leading to the throne room in a frenzied, convoluted fashion. Prior to the wyvern lord was half-way across the room, Valter halted the palomino's pace with a derisive greeting.

"Back so soon, Glen? Aren't you suppose to have little Eirika's bracelet by now?" he called out mockingly and the said general erratically whirled around to face him.

"Valter!" Glen hissed venomously, eyes flashing irefully, "What are you doing here?!"

"The same can be asked of you." Valter countered icily, old resentment for his former peer rising. He ambled towards Glen, ebony pupils locking onto Glen's tense and bristled form. "What will His Imperial Majesty think of the notion that you allowed Eirika to escape unscathed and return empty handed? Tsk, tsk."

The Sunstone glowered at the formidable wyvern knight, his mouth forming a dirty, enraged scowl. "I have questions for the emperor," he stated flatly, as if his explanation automatically ended the succinct, unpleasant dialogue between him and Valter. Snorting, the Moonstone shook his head like he found something incredibly regaling with Glen's blunt candor. All of a sudden, Valter's amused expression rapidly shifted into a truculent, volatile one, a wild glow glinting in his dusky eyes. Without warning, he had his hand constricted around a startled and bewildered Glen's throat, fingernails sinking agonizingly into Glen's swarthy flesh as he slammed the palomino up against the stone wall with herculean strength and conviction.

"But before you go gallivanting off to query His Majesty's motives, _I_ have a question for _you _to answer, Glen," Valter snarled, making sure Glen was every bit uncomfortable and in excruciating pain. The Sunstone gasped for more air but Valter tighten his grip, refusing any excess oxygen to enter Glen's lungs. "Now answer me and answer me fast: Where are they?"

"W-who?" the wyvern lord rasped out, hands raking haplessly at Valter's choking hold around his neck. Growling, Valter once more rammed Glen against the wall, directing Glen's head so it mostly received the brunt of the impact. A detrimental cry broke free from Glen as his head brusquely collide with the wall and then was snapped back up to face Valter's uncompromising, fulminating gaze.

"Let me repeat myself: Where are they?"

Glaring daggers at him, Glen struggled to form the words due to the lack of air but eventually managed the feat. "Are you referring to Eirika and her band?"

"_Absolutely not_," hissed Valter, madly itching to snap Glen's spiny neck in two, "you precisely know who I am referring so stop playing dumb with me before I kill you where you stand." Utter comprehension dawned in the wyvern lord's smoky eyes posthaste and he was silent for a moment before replying.

"Still hunting for the survivors?" he asked feebly, vainly inhaling for more air to fill the vacancy of his oxygen deprived lungs. "Still desiring to shed their innocent blood?"

At this, Valter snorted, blatantly showing his controversy to the Sunstone's brazen declaration. "Innocent? They are far from it. Now I shall chivvy you once more: Where are they hiding?" Flailing and writhing in the Moonstone's clutches, Glen didn't reply to his demand until Valter kneed him in the stomach, affectively knocking the wind out of him. Coughing and choking simultaneously, Glen complicated himself to respond.

"If I truly was aware of their location do you really fathom I would betray them and surrender them to you by disclosing their hidden sanctuary?"

Glen half-expected Valter to burst into a tempestuous, bellicose rage and end his life right then and there. However, what he didn't expect was for the rapscallion to cast a disgusted, contemptuous glare at him and release him via tossing him unceremoniously to the glacial, rough ground.

"Go," Valter commanded darkly, a grim, turbulent aura cloaking him which he inevitably appeared more intimidating and feral, "go and crawl back to your precious emperor. You're not worth killing. You never have been and never will be." Choler still burning and boiling inside of him, he then strode swiftly out of the foyer, not wasting another glimpse at Glen's crumpled, disheveled array.

* * *

"You lied to me."

Both Emperor Vigarde and Prince Lyon's head jerked up roughly at the acerbic timbre who uttered the damning indictment. Lyon cautiously calculated and dissected Glen's sober yet steaming mien while Emperor Vigarde simply stared fathomlessly at the Sunstone.

"What are you talking about, Glen? Have you turned traitor on me too, just like that coward Duessel?" Vigarde said coldly, voicing an accusation of his own.

"No, Your Majesty, but I want to know why you lied to me about Eirika. She never slaughtered all those people. She told me so herself." Glen replied monotonously, missing the brief, demonic spark in Prince Lyon's eyes. Even to Glen's astounding admission, Emperor Vigarde didn't bat an eyelash when many leaders would have tossed decorum out the window and spew raucously for an explanation.

"You chatted with the enemy and believed her words?" the Silent Emperor drawled out, carrying on like Glen hadn't spoken at all. "This means you permitted her to escape us once more. Such treachery…must be taken care of."

"P-pardon?" implored Glen, nearly sputtering at his liege's last sentence. "Your Imperial Majesty, I have committed no such horrendous crime to you. I merely want to know the truth."

"Yes, wouldn't everyone desire that?" remarked Lyon disparagingly, his stormy gray pupils flickering with malign and supernatural luminesce. In slow, embellished strides, the dark spell caster advanced dangerously towards Glen, a snide, evil grin on his face. "You really were an utter fool, Glen. Much as one as Duessel was. Of course, he unintentionally managed to elude the tragic fate that was supposedly destined for him. Not that the same contingency will occur to you." The Grado prince chuckled coldly, his wan eyes swirling with surreal gaiety and morbidity.

"Riev!" he called out crisply, his typical docile and reluctant attitude evanescing. Glen watched aghast and dumbfounded as the Blood Beryl warped promptly into the throne room, his whole sallow face stricken with glee.

"You summoned me, Prince Lyon?" said Riev fluidly yet there was something in the bishop's manner which undisputedly revealed that he conceived more than he was letting on. Nodding, the said prince tilted his head at Glen, who was totally speechless yet bright enough to realize his life was in jeopardy.

"Yes, I did. I request you to bring your apprentice, Irthos, to me. I have a very special task for him to complete." The unearthly, fiendish shine in Lyon's eyes greatly perturbed Glen as he witnessed this exchange unfold, wondering perplexingly what in the world was happening.

Riev bowed his head, saying, "Of course, Your Highness. I shall bring him straightaway." With a smarmy simper on his lips, the Blood Beryl warped out of this sight, leaving Glen alone with the two inexplicable monarchs.

"Prince Lyon, what is going on?!" Glen demanded fiercely, a hint of panic escaping in his undulate tenor. The prince of Grado slowly pivoted around to face Glen once more, a condensing, malevolent expression adorning his slight, wan features as he stared at the wyvern lord squarely in the eye. His violet cape strangely billowed out majestically behind him as Lyon addressed Glen for the last time, producing a dichromatic image of calamity and portent.

"What does it look like, Glen? I am just simply preparing your execution." he responded eloquently, his impeccably good cheer towards the macabre topic copiously alarming and harrowing to the palomino's viewpoint.

"_What_?!" the Sunstone exclaimed stridently, shell-shocked by his liege's bluntness and disarming candor. Prince Lyon merely cocked a pretense smile at Glen's unintelligent outburst, uttering nothing as he returned to his lethargic father's side, placing himself on the right-hand section of the throne.

"Prince Lyon, I have brought Irthos, just as you commanded."

Nearly jumping, Glen whirled himself around to see Riev once more, this time with a navy-blue haired and golden-eyed druid behind him, wearing a dour aspect on his weary countenance. Glen had been so wrapped up with Lyon's chilling condemnation that in his oblivion he had failed to notice or hear Riev warping in, even with someone in tow.

Lyon nodded approvingly, no doubtfully pleased by how the course of the whimsical conjunctures were conjugating into his favor. "Good, very good. Come forth, Irthos." Begrudgingly, the solemn druid complied, his captivating amber eyes immersed with inner confliction and silent, icy rage. "Now, Irthos, I have very important assignment for you. It is crucial that you do this for me. You understand?"

"Yes, I do, milord," came the grumbled reply. Lyon beamed, apparently oblivious to druid's conspicuous contempt and ire. Either that or he didn't care at all.

"Now, Irthos, you are fully aware what happens to traitors, correct?" Irthos bobbled his head amenably, contradicting to his rather obvious factiousness.

"They are punished, Your Highness. With a swift execution." he informed succinctly and Lyon nodded again, signaling that Irthos had uttered the correct answer.

"Right you are. Now, as your prince, I implore you to dispose of this man (he pointed directly at Glen who was too stunned to react or respond). He has been convicted of a traitor and must be taken care of as soon as possible."

Irthos rotated his head around to receive an efficient vista of the man he was decreed to kill. A faint, fleeting look of comprehension and recognition flashed across his taxed pallor as he scrutinized the Sunstone with much care and perception. "He is the General Glen, the Sunstone, he is not?"

Nodding, Lyon commented concisely, "Yes, he is. It's such a shame someone of his rank would stoop so low to treason." This fallacious remark abruptly snapped Glen out of his shocked stupor and stimulated him to protest vehemently at his defense.

"Milord, that is absurd! I have done no such acts of treason! I have been faithful to you through and through!" Glen cried out fervidly while inwardly wracking for an escape plan if Prince Lyon did indeed decided to carry out his notion of an execution.

"So they say," sighed Lyon wistfully, giving the order to Irthos with a tilt of his head at Glen's direction.

Prior to the Sunstone could even bolt in an attempt to elude his death sentence, Irthos had already descended upon him. However, Glen detected an unsettling, immense difference in the druid now. There was now an unnatural, inhuman spark glittering in his memorizing, arcane golden orbs, darkening the sclera, iris, cornea, and pupils of his suddenly eerie, haunting eyes. A feral grin twisted itself across the druid's lips, bestowing him a malign, wicked appearance.

**"General Glen, Sunstone of Grado…"** he manifested grandly and the said general immediately noticed the dropped pitch in the Irthos man's timbre.

_This isn't the same man who arrived a few moments ago! What betided to him just now?! He's almost like a…monster. _

**"…your time has come. Meet your doom, foolish mortal."**

A caliginous, satanical vortex full of crackling energy balefully hovered over Glen's sights before the magical assault finally crashed down onto the flummoxed, damned palomino, severing his ties with the terrestrial world and hurling his immortal soul into the path of the celestial unknown.

Thus was the untimely end of General Glen, renowned Sunstone of Grado.

* * *

If it wasn't for his beguiling, profound set of familiar gilt eyes Valter would have passed him right by without a thought or a care in the world. Yet he did espy those two shimmering golden pupils and he almost did a double-take because there was only one person he knew who possessed such eyes and that was Zecilys.

"Valter, a word with you." At the sound of his name, Valter's head jerked up to the speaker, perceiving Riev was right next to this arcane lad and turned to meet the Blood Beryl's analytical scrutiny.

"Yes, Riev?" he asked casually, a rather bored lilt in his timbre.

"It's regarding to that young woman. Zecilys, I believe her name was. How is she faring?"

To Valter's intrigue, the monotonous druid's (he presumed the phlegmatic young man to be Riev's apprentice) eyebrows shot up in alarm and bafflement. An inscrutable impression flickered across his intuitive amber eyes before regaining their lackluster, mordant hue.

"She's faring just fine, Riev. Nothing unusual has occurred, if you're wondering." Valter replied aloofly, covertly eyeing the currently nameless druid to inspect his next reaction, providing if there was another one. The peculiar druid's gaze shifted away from the piqued wyvern knight, leveling his gold eyes down the floor. By his semi-hunched, reclusive form, it appeared he was struggling with an inner turmoil of some sorts. Unfortunately, Riev began speaking again to Valter's assessment, thus disturbing the Moonstone's discernment with his topaz-eyed, erudite apprentice.

"Excellent. That's wonderful to hear. Sooner or later, the Master will like to meet her and perform a few…_tests_, if you will." Cackling at the morbidity of the female rider's impending, unsavory predicament, Riev shuffled out of the corridor, leaving Valter and strangely, his apprentice behind. Valter turned to the nonplussed druid, half-expecting him to suddenly stand erect and trod after his teacher's heels.

"Well?" he demanded, narrowing his onyx eyes suspiciously at the young man, "Aren't you going to trot after him like an obedient puppy to its master?"

At his rather derisive comment, the solemn druid snorted and shook his head. "I had enough with that," he admitted sardonically, "besides; he doesn't need me right this very minute. There is a far more crucial matter at hand." Lifting his head up pronto, he met Valter with a piercing stare of his own.

"You mentioned a young lady called Zecilys. May I…see her?" Taken aback, Valter nearly blinked by this stranger's blunt yet sincere request. Why was he so curious in meeting his charge, Zecilys–the woman sorely placed under his attentive care?

"Why do you need to see her?" he questioned sharply, grimly wondering what this golden-eyed fellow wanted with Zecilys.

The dark magician never flinched at the harsh, low threat mingled within the Moonstone's tone. "The reason is rather…_personal_, I should say. I somewhat have unfinished business with her and I wouldn't doubt at all that she, in return, will have some with me. If it's her safety you fear for then there's no need to worry; I will not harm her in any shape or form." He fixated his taxed, jaded golden orbs onto Valter, revealing a sudden desperation inside. Valter studied him meticulously, swiftly realizing how much those drained, cynical eyes were a semblance to his own, gradually broken down and tortured by the cruelty of the world.

Inwardly sighing, Valter nodded earnestly and promptly whirled around the balls of his feet, uttering a brisk, deep, "Come!" to the greatly aged lad. The druid's smooth, near gliding gait soon accompanied him.

"By the way, sir—"

"General Valter," corrected the Moonstone simply, keeping his casual stride furtive and majestic, "or you may call me the Moonstone. I answer to both."

"All right, General Valter. My name is Irthos, apprentice of Riev, the Blood Beryl."

"You poor unfortunate soul." Irthos's bitter chortle rang divertingly in Valter's ears at his latest remark and Valter found himself suppressing an entertained smirk twitching from the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I suppose you can say that." Irthos's wry grin was practically audible when he iterated those words. Valter wondered how someone like Irthos rounded up as putrid, bothersome Riev's apprentice, the notion did not sound very appealing. …Well, at least to him.

After lengthy duration of silence they finally reached Zecilys's chambers, or rather, the room they confined her in for the time being. He inserted the key into its respectable lock, opening the door with subtle forthrightness. Valter instantly spotted Zecilys reclined on an opulent, embroidered settee, her bare feet dangling over an upholstered arm. In her hands he intriguingly noticed the leather bound, scarlet book and he was even more amused when he gleaned she was rather engrossed with _The Many Variant Methods of Erotica._

_And she acted like the novel was utmost composed of filth and deigned in reading it. She is such a vexatious yet fascinating creature. _

To attract her attention, he 'ahemed' and subsequently added, "Hello, Zecilys." The said wyvern rider's head snapped up, her gold eyes atwitter with utter curiosity. Actualizing Valter's roguish smirk and regaled stare at the erotica in her hands, her cheeks briefly flushed a rosy hue and stuffed the book underneath one of the settee's lavish pillows. As if replying to his unspoken question she fervently retorted:

"Well, this was the only book you left me so I had no other choice, Valter!"

Valter waved her excuse away, relishing how flustered and flared up she appeared. "Whatever you say, dear Zecilys." He could hear Irthos snort quietly behind him, masked circumspectly in the shadows. "Before you make me forget, you have a visitor."

Zecilys blinked, temporary bemused via the licentious general's announcement. "A visitor? But I never receive visitors." Trepidation was edged around her words and she looked at Valter with sheer puzzlement, silently pleading him to clarify.

"You do now," replied Valter, motioning Irthos to come forth. The cultivated druid melted out of the darkness of the room, revealing his mystical presence to Zecilys. Amber locked on amber and for a moment, no one spoke. Irthos was in deep contemplation, analyzing Zecilys like he was assaying to determine her reaction. Zecilys just observed him incredulously, her eyes and mind deciding whether this was a figment of her imagination or not. At last, the pregnant, suffocating silence was shattered when Irthos opened his mouth and talked.

"It has been so long…hasn't it, Zecilys?" His rich, silky tenor immediately severed Zecilys from her flabbergasted, skeptic stupor and a hostile, intense wave of contempt washed over her face, golden eyes strenuously imbued with ire and dudgeon.

"Yes it has…_Irthos, **you bloody damned bastard**_!" With quicksilver speed, she practically flew at him and encompassed her hands around his throat, eyes now ablaze with ardent fury and lips curling into an acrid sneer.

"I don't know if these past three years turned you all balmy and daft but did you really and truly esteem I'd forgive you for what you have done to **me**, _to our whole family_?!" she screamed at him, nails intentionally digging detrimentally into his fair skin. Irthos choked and strained to coerce a few words out.

"No…I conceived that…you'd behave this…way."

Zecilys's sneer rapidly transformed into a scowl. "Isn't that a surprise," she mused sarcastically, ignoring Irthos's frantic, futile attempts to pry her hands loose and open her constricting grip on his neck. "I've been waiting for this glorious moment, Irthos. I've been waiting for this chance to arrive so much that the vengeance inside of me burns so fervidly that I credit you'll being receiving a taste of its chaotic fervor shortly." Prior to she could harm Irthos any further, two pairs of potent, adamant arms yanked Zecilys's hold off Irthos and dragged her away from him. Filled with indignation and outright furor, Zecilys tenaciously and furiously fought against Valter's dominative, herculean enfoldment.

"Leave, now!" the Moonstone barked at Irthos and the assaulted druid nodded grudgingly, not needing to be ordered twice. Wordlessly, he departed the chambers, Zecilys's outraged hollers following his footsteps as he shut the door behind him. When the door clicked and the wyvern knight could sense that Irthos had accumulated an efficient amount of distance, only then did Valter slowly pivoted Zecilys around so she could face him. Her countenance was crimson with wrath and choler, gilt orbs brimming with bottomless abhorrence.

"_What was that for_?" Zecilys screeched venomously at him, "He was in my grasp and I had him where I wanted! I could have killed him and completed my revenge if it wasn't for your interference!"

"Which brings in my desire to comprehend to what just bloody happened," Valter retorted gruffly, "do you always treat your visitors this way or is he an expectation?"

Zecilys grinded her teeth, glaring menacingly at her interceder. "**He** is most definitely an expectation," she snarled, nostrils flaring.

"Why is that? Has he wronged you in the past?" questioned Valter stonily. His inquires set off a mirthless, caustic laugh from Zecilys and she shook her head lightly.

"Of course he has! The craving for justice and revenge against all the sins he has committed against me and the Melkbane House is the very reason why I'm still alive!"

Suddenly, as if her brusque, foreboding admission sapped her of all her strength, Zecilys reluctantly sank into Valter's locking embrace. "You want to know, don't you?" she murmured against his chest, pondering how everything was going all wrong for her and spinning out of control.

"I believe I should make this violent pandemonium in my best interest so, yes, I would. You have much to explain, Zecilys."

* * *

So, at last, here we are, at chapter fifteen! I was on vacation and miles and miles away from my laptop so extremely little writing was done over spring break hence to the longer wait, not that it matters anymore.

Now, I bet some of you are probably perplexed in why the Demon King is also in Irthos when he should wholly be inside of Lyon. Be patient, I'll explain why the fiend is secluded inside both those gents later on.

Chapter sixteen will deal with Zecilys's past, more specifically the day of the Melkbane Massacre. Ephraim shall be inching closer to the Grado Keep and more trouble will boil and stir as times passes. Albeit I can't be sure, but hopefully soon you all will be learning more about Valter's past, his ties with his mother, and so much more. I'll be utterly pumped when the time comes for me to write his past, I have been planning and constructing his past for quite some time. Perhaps in a couple of chapters or so, I cannot say at the moment.

Prior to I transmute out, (like I stated in my Valter/Selena story for those who have read it) I am hosting a Fire Emblem/ Sacred Stones challenge. You can look at my profile, my lone forum, or the Writer's Guild Forum for information. Also, I thank you all for reading and reviewing and bearing with me so far. You have my gratitude. Adieu!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	16. Sixteen: Ghosts of the Past

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Sixteen: Ghosts of the Past**

Well, smack my ass and call me Judy (yes, that's a quote from the TV show _Friends_); these reviews are utterly wonderful! Reviewers, I thank you once more for committing time and energy to either send criticism or appreciation pertaining to **Wild Justice**. They _really_ made my day.

**Knives91: **Right you are; simply wait for each impending chapter. Only I know the answers and my lips are sealed on the matter. –grins–

**Lucky-erin47:** You're quite welcome and if this relieves you even more, I still have Riev locked up. Let's up Colm or Rennac don't do something stupid and accidently let him out…

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan: **That's all right, at least you've review the last chapter. Oh, paroxysmal is a favorite word of yours? Sweet, I have few favorites, one of them is hebetudinous.

Naming the ships was fun, I was trying to remember if Queen Anne's Revenge was the name of Blackbeard's ship. Then I went, "Ah, screw it! No one's going to know the significance of that, go with a name at least most people will know!" Thus, enter _The Black Pearl_.

Heh, Forde's really a riot, isn't it? I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to fluster Ephraim a bit. And yes, the Demon King is inside of Irthos, you will learn why in the next chapter–isn't that great? As for Valter's mother, you'll find out more about her and the rest of Valter's family in either chapter eighteen or nineteen, I can't be sure at the moment.

Overall, thank you for the lovely update and the message you sent to me about my lack of updating. I really needed that wake-up call, thanks again.

**Aquatic-Idealist: **Another fan for me? Excellent, I'm glad to have attracted your interest. And did I mention villains, especially bringing out the humane side of some, are my specialty? Prepare to see the other side of Valter in the future chapters, you're going to see him a totally different light later on, trust me.

**Oriel Kurosaki: **Aw, really? Thanks, I figured most of the readers would either hate me or think I'm nuts–which I am but I love my insanity–so it's kind of humorous how people in here like me more than in the real life. Funny how our world works, eh?

You're starting to like Valter?! Gasp! Okay, I'm jesting, I'm actually glad to hear that for that is my point. If it's any consolation, I have converted lockie and another friend of mine into Valter fans so who know, you might be next. –smiles evilly–

Ah, my immense vocab is out to wreck me again! This is price to pay as a logomaniac such as myself. Thanks for the heads-up, I definitely have that suggestion in mind.

**ashelia-chan****: **Why, thank you very much. Thank you for reviewing and reading this story and checking out my other fanfics. I really appreciated it.

**Sivynia: **Heh, don't worry, I'll do my best. I quite fond of Zecilys, I'm glad you like her.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer:** **If I own Sacred Stones then why would I need this?**

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"_Why is that? Has he wronged you in the past?" questioned Valter stonily. His inquires set off a mirthless, caustic laugh from Zecilys and she shook her head lightly. _

"_Of course he has! The craving for justice and revenge against the sins he committed against me and the Melkbane House is the very reason I'm still alive!" _

_Suddenly, as if her blunt, foreboding admission sapped her of all her strength, Zecilys reluctantly sank into Valter's locking embrace. "You want to know, don't you?" she murmured against his chest, pondering how everything was going all wrong for her and spinning out of control. _

"_I believe I should make this violent pandemonium in my best interest so, yes, I would. You have much to explain, Zecilys." _

_

* * *

_

"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injures are revenged; crimes are avenged."**-Samuel Johnson**

_

* * *

_

A muffled "I know" greeted his comments and Zecilys lifted her head up to face Valter anew. "To be candid, I have never told anyone about what betided to the Melkbane House three years ago, no one."

"For _three_ years?" Despite Valter's incredulous remark, Zecilys merely nodded and proceeded.

"Correct. The agony, the horror, the grief…the gruesome experience was too much to bear at the time. Slowly, as the years passed by, I adjusted myself to the scars of the past but thought I'd be better off if I didn't disclose my macabre tale to anyone, especially to anyone close or who know me as a Melkbane from previous encounters."

"Even Ephraim?" inquired the Moonstone curiously, instantly comprehending the full meaning of her words. Instead of replying, Zecilys simply nodded her head, her grip on Valter's shirt tightening. "Hm, that's shocking. I thought you would tell him about your woeful, tragic story, seeing how affectionate you are towards him."

Zecilys flashed her amber eyes at him irately. "Must we delve into that _now_?" she hissed ardently, seriously contemplating in breaking herself from Valter's encompassment if he continued this tangent of insistently hurling her relations with Ephraim in her face. "Besides, I thought you wanted to hear about the Melkbane Massacre, or was I mistaken?"

Shaking his head, Valter answered monotonously, "No, you were not. Please, resume." Albeit he seemed earnest, the slight smirk at corner of lips betrayed his mirth. He'd get her to reply to his question, sooner or later. He would just have to be patient in the mean time.

"As you say." She paused briefly, as if she was uncertain where to begin with her plaintive tale. After all, her mouth has been closed shut on the surreal matter for all these grueling years and now the hidden key was being commanded to open up the rusty yet iron-clad lock and unleash all the strife, jeremiads, and unwanted memories of the past. Could she have the strength to once again face the ghosts of her past and, perhaps, banish them for good?

_Well, there's only one way to find out. _

"The onslaught began somewhere in the evening and the sun was setting when we first were aware of some odd occurrences stirring around the region. My father sent a paucity of troops to investigate and then scope the land for any possible threats to the Melkbane House and its inhabitants." She inhaled slightly, recalling the ramifications of her father's decisive actions. "Those who managed to return were completely soaked in blood, theirs and the enemies, babbling on and on about a clandestine army furtively secluded in the shadows. The survivors of the scouts then wildly proclaimed the legion was already on the move and rapidly marching to the gates of the Melkbane House."

"_**The enemy is approaching, nigh to our territory! They shall arrive here before the sun fully sets!" **_

_**Panic mummers and despondent pandemonium sporadically fluttered about the court and people alike exchanged baffled looks, affright illuminating in their astonished, dilated eyes. Who or what dared to contrive a siege against the mighty Melkbane House?**_

"We had a few enemies, like the houses of Herthus and Tanalk, but they were never the types to furtively foray into our territory. The cloak-and-dagger besiegement just simply wasn't in their nature."

"_**Xais, rouse the army! I want us to be utterly prepared for when our foe appears. Frestlin, Patrick! You and your men must escort all civilians into the evacuation center and post guards around the building as protection. Rothal, rally your shamans and summoners and meet me, Xais, and the rest of my warrior council here in a half an hour when you are through! Everyone else, get to your positions!" **_

_**Hayden Melkbane, leader and protector of the Melkbane House, quickly turned to the remnants of his scout party. "Prior you all retreated did any of you get a lucid, efficient glimpse of the enemy?" Some of the men nodded albeit their faces' were ashen and their eyes carried a doleful luster.**_

"_**A couple of us managed to, milord, but the sight wasn't at all comforting," one of the soldiers informed gravely. He hesitated, his despondency clearly gnawing on him. Placing a stoic, firm expression on his worn yet proud features, Hayden prodded the man to resume with a simple nod of his head and the perturbed warrior continued his report. "We witnessed not only houses of Herthus and Tanalk but also a horde of hideous creatures that couldn't possibly be human! What was more appalling was the fact the warriors of Herthus and Tanalk were somewhat nonplussed by the company of these monsters, as if they didn't fear them at all." **_

"Wait a minute; some of your adversaries were _monsters_?" queried Valter sharply, his brain hectically whirling with bemusement, conjectures, and even more questions, "How did that happen?" In response, Zecilys simply shrugged, not knowing the answer either.

"I honestly don't know. Even to this day I still can't fathom why Herthus and Tanalk would align themselves to such atrocities…there must have been some munificent deal struck between the two leaders and the commander of the monster army."

"Monster army, eh?" the Moonstone echoed, a sneaky suspicion forming in his mind at those words. Innate instincts blared vigorously at him that the unexpected arrival of fiends was irrefutably correspondent to the lurking presence of a certain smarmy bishop he unfortunately is acquainted with. "How did your father handle the news?"

"Like a true, powerful leader. He never once lost his stolid composure, he simply processed the ominous information and began contriving new defense plans to counterattack and negate the efficacy of these supernatural beings." Her fists clenched, like a particular awful memory was resurfacing. "In spite of all his arduous, strenuous dedication to protect the Melkbane House, everything fell apart right after the fifth wave of both Herthus and Tanalk troops and the second assault of those wretched creatures."

_**Screams of the dying and wounded echoed surreally in her ears as Zecilys raced through out the deserted halls of the Melkbane House. Most of the inhabitants had been evacuated, save for Father, Mother, Alcyone, herself, and few others. Irthos was no where around and his perplexing disappearance frightened the whole family. By a perchance did the enemy found him first and decided to make him the first Melkbane to die?**_

"_**Zecilys! What are you doing here?!" **_

_**Spinning on the balls of her feet, Zecilys rapidly confronted the owner of the curt, gruff bass. "Xais!" She breathed out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad to see a familiar and friendly face." Her teacher and mentor did not reply. He only yanked her by the elbow brusquely and pulled her closer to him as an act of protection and reassurance for her safety. **_

"_**You shouldn't be here, Zecilys. You and your sister should be with the other women and children, out of harm's way." **_

"_**But I can fight!" protested the teal haired female, latching firmly on the steel lance she managed to uncover nearby, "After all, you trained me yourself so there's nothing for you to worry about. You watch my back and I'll watch yours. Simple as that." The superlative wyvern general shook his fiercely, vertical lines stretching deeply across his sweaty forehead. **_

"_**I would prefer that you searched for Alcyone and join those in hiding. Your and Alcyone's well-being is my first and foremost concern right now thus the concept of you two in safe, good hands would do much to ease my troubles and bring a little peace to my mind." Xais stared long and hard at Zecilys, silently issuing the steely demand with his blazing metallic eyes. Prior to his pupil could open her mouth to either yield or demur to Xais's request, a squadron of both Herthus and Tanalk soldiers burst into the lavish antechamber where Zecilys and Xais were presently at. **_

"_**Look what we have here," cajoled one legionnaire who seemed to be of Tanalk heritage, "the famous wyvern general, Xais the Brutal himself along with the middle child of Hayden Rupert Melkbane. Looks like our days shaping up, boys." A malign, satanic sneer contorted itself across his scarred features as he spoke. **_

"_**We Tanalkans have a little score to settle with you, Xais, for what you did ten years ago at the Battle of Lutchsington," added another Tanalkan soldier. One of the Herthusan men ogled Zecilys salaciously, a wanton gleam in his eye. Panic bubbling and rising in her throat Zecilys unconsciously inched closer to Xais and clutched her lance tighter than before. **_

"_**Do you think the little Melkbane princess has anything worth seeing under those garbs?" he insinuated lewdly. At his perverse question, the rest of the men scrutinized her huddled form, causing Zecilys to fidget and squirm under their leers. Sensing Zecilys's discomfort and the men's heinous intentions, Xais draped one arm in front of Zecilys in a protective manner and then shoved her behind him, his fighting stance poised and menacing. Their foes found this assiduous act particularly amusing.**_

"_**Aw, see how the general protects his beloved princess. Such profound devotion." jeered one other Herthusan and the squadron commenced their advancement unto Xais and Zecilys. "This should be fun, chopping you into bits." **_

_**Xais snorted incredulously at the soldier's morbid statement. "You all talk big and yet none of you can ever live up to your bravado. Go back running to your mothers, the battlefield is reserved only for real men—" He glanced briefly at Zecilys, adding, "—and women." Xais looked back up at the incensed soldiers, a hint of a smirk gracing his lips.**_

"_**Then again, you all could be soft enough to be silly young girls. My mistake, ladies." **_

_**An enraged roar broke out within the execrable group of offended males and both Tanalkans and Herthusans alike charged frenziedly at the wyvern general who nonchalantly analyzed their truculent, unorganized motions with eerie precision and accuracy. With a flick of his wrist, his elongate deadly spear shot out and the tip swiftly met its target. Two men had already fallen to the precipitant attack. As their pitiful bodies crumpled to the ground, Xais retracted his weapon and lashed out on his adversaries once more, his eyes alight with a searing resolve and fury beyond the reach of comprehension. The renowned wyvern knight impaled a warrior in the heart and slashed another across his throat, bestowing a dripping crimson choker around the man's thick, pudgy neck. **_

"_**Xais!" Zecilys called in warning, pointing to the one knight about to hurl a javelin at the said rider and Xais ducked just in time for the javelin to sail futilely over him. Xais turned to Zecilys, a grimace plastered on his now bloody countenance. **_

"_**Zecilys, get back! Go to your parents!"**_

_**Zecilys shook her head vehemently. She absolutely refused to let her instructor fend all these men by himself, all alone! "I won't leave you! You need my help!"**_

"_**No, I don't! Leave now and go find your parents. You must flee this place!"**_

"_**Not without you, Xais!" **_

"_**I said GO!" Having the last word in, he aggressively thrust her out of the anteroom and slammed the door shut with his foot, preventing Zecilys from reentering the hallway and the foe from pursuing her. With grim yet ardent resolution gripping his very soul, Xais engaged the remaining fighters once more. **_

_**Even if the affront meant to the death. **_

"I never saw him again after that," Zecilys whispered dolefully, her golden pupils imbibed with strife in requiem of her surly, hard-drinking, rough, but dedicated instructor who taught her the ways of a wyvern rider and was her father's right-hand man. "Knowing him, Xais probably slew anyone in his path and didn't cease his belligerent assailments until Death visited him personally."

Wordlessly, Valter nodded, uncertain what to say. Ere he could contemplate whether he should insert a comment or not, Zecilys resumed her tragic story with evident reluctance. By the grief-stricken expression emerging steadily onto her face, Valter gleaned Xais's demise was merely the tip of the ice burg.

"My father was the second person I encounter along the way and he already had gleaned the futility of the situation firsthand. He kept on beseeching me to mount Eroniz and leave the premise. I was so befuddled and perturbed by the torrential events that I had no knowledge of what he was assaying to save me from."

"_**Eroniz has been saddled for your escape. Stick to the forest and follow the river, it's alongside the eastern border to the path that will lead you to the Rausten palace. Once you reach there, inform the Mansel there immediately and report to him the gruesome tragedy that has befallen the Melkbane House." **_

"_**But Father, aren't you coming with me? What about Mother and Alcyone and Irthos? Will they be accompanying me?" **_

"_**I'm afraid you will be undertaking this journey alone. I know in my heart I won't make it and neither will your mother. Alcyone's fate is unknown to me and as for Irthos…."**_

"_**What? What about Irthos? Has something betided him?" **_

"_**He is lost to us now, Zecilys. Forever lost."**_

"What was your father trying to rescue you from?" Valter asked staidly, perceiving what was yet to be stated. Zecilys tilted her head upwards to encounter his inquisitive gaze, unshed tears and agony unimaginable overtly glistening in her darkened amber eyes.

"He was trying to protect me from witnessing it all. From Mother's death to his and to _Irthos's betrayal_, he attempted to spare me from such flagrant sights." She closed her eyes, endeavoring to suppress all the potent and overwhelming emotions crashing down on her and her vulnerable state of mind. "Naturally, his efforts were all in vain."

"_**Zecilys, go to the stables! Grab Eroniz and flee to the Rausten court! Tell them what's happening here!"**_

"_**I can't just leave you, Father, and everyone else behind! Where's Mother?" **_

"_**She's buying us time. I will do the same for you when you escape on Eroniz."**_

"_**But who's attacking us? Is it Herthus or Tanalk?"**_

"_**It's not them. The enemy is someone far greater then those two houses."**_

"_**Then who—" **_

"_**Be gone Zecilys! Fly! Don't be seen! Stay clear of archers!" **_

"_**But Father—!"**_

"He urged me onward and I had the pleasantry of watching a gaggle of sordid creatures surround my father and attack without warning. With honor he fought to the death, butchering all those deplorable monsters until there wasn't a single one left standing." A bitter smile reached her lips, as if recalling the august fortitude of her father. "However, he paid a hefty price for his pyrrhic victory for the wounds he received were fatal. With his dying breath he ordered me to flee and I heeded his wish and race straight to Eroniz's stall as fast as I could."

The rancorous smile turned ugly and twisted into a dark, seething scowl. "Unfortunately, the Fates weren't quite finished with torturing me."

_**She had, at first, thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Yet a second, more thorough examination proved her horribly wrong. **_

_**In front of her, her older sister Alcyone was being manhandled and harassed by a small assemblage of enemy soldiers from either the houses of Herthus or Tanalk, but not the fearsome foe Father had mentioned prior to his grisly death. **_

"_**Get your filthy hands off me, brutes!" Alycone hollered spitefully, slapping their lecherous hands away with one hand. Cradled in her free arm was a swathed bundle carrying her only son, Scamandrius, whom she was protecting tenaciously from harm and the nefarious men's advances–just like any true mother would have done. **_

"_**Hey, is that a baby you have there?" asked one soldier slyly, peeking over to see the slumbering, serene Scamandrius. **_

_**Alcyone flashed her amber orbs at him irefully, her whole visage promising inexplicable tribulation if he should lay a finger on her son. "Touch him and die!" she hissed at him and the rest of the men chortled coldly.**_

"_**I'd love to see that, dearie," replied the same man before, reaching out for her. Alcyone's strident protests and vicious kicks awoke Zecilys from her terrified, stunned stupor and stimulated her to rush to her older sister's defense. **_

"_**Get away from her!" she screamed, impaling one oblivious soldier in front of her in the back, "Harm her and I'll kill you myself!" She knew she couldn't take them all on and merge victorious, even if with her remarkable expertise and all the training with Xais but she'd be damned before she forsakes one of her own just to save her own skin!**_

"_**This is just rich… Another kitten who thinks she's a tiger!" Raucous, obnoxious laughter ruptured from the squadron at the derisive remark. "Charming as this display is, we have orders to fulfill so hand over the brat, woman." As the spiteful words died from his mouth, he lunged at Alcyone and her infant son, thoroughly adamant to seize the child from his mother's arms. Akin to a mother animal defending her young, Alcyone retaliated, kicking, screaming, and lashing out against her adversaries in order to protect her only son. **_

"_**Over my dead body will you hurt him!" screeched the oldest Melkbane child, shoving one foot into the groin of one soldier, "I've already lost Ceyx and I am not about to lose my son as well!" **_

_**Zecilys tried to assist her sister yet a couple of enemy warriors from behind ambushed her, grabbing her arms and legs and pinning them to their sides. Her sister Alcyone was all alone. **_

_**After a few more attempts, the soldiers had successfully rended Scamandrius from Alcyone's grasp and now proceeded to dangle the infant high in the air, Scamandrius's pitiable cries for his mother and the malicious laughter of legionnaires permeating the air. Both sisters stared in absolute horror and despair on what the men planned to do next. **_

"**No! Don't kill him**_**!" Zecilys protested desperately as Alcyone shrieked and struggled under her captor's vice grip to save her son from his impending demise, "He's just a baby, just a baby—" Her words died the moment young Scamandrius was smashed brutally against the stone wall of the Melkbane House, silencing the baby's wails and Alcyone's yells forever. Zecilys hopelessly stared at her older sister who now looked so broken, so listless against the turbulent, convulsive background. Silent tears streamed down Alcyone's visage and when she lifted her head up to face Zecilys for the last time, her once radiant amber eyes now glittered with a wish for death. **_

_**Then the nightmare began once more. One minute Alcyone had been ensnared and the next, she had tricked her captor and was sprinting westward, heading straight for the cliffs. Some of the soldiers vainly assayed to pursue her and stop her mad suicide attempt but not even them could catch up to a woman who lost all her loved ones and now solely craved the bittersweet embrace of Death. Zecilys could only watch the dreaded scene as Alcyone freely plunged off the precipice, a strangled sob bursting from the young wyvern rider's throat as her sister's floating body drifted laxly into the crushing waves of ocean blue.**_

"_**ALCYONE!" **_

"Lord," Valter breathed out incredulously, "your older sister killed herself." His response was more of statement than a question. Zecilys nodded stiffly yet Valter noticed her golden eyes were weary and already gleaming with grief and woe. Part of him just wanted her to cease the tale and prevent the rest of her wounds from bleeding out like an eruption. On the other hand, he possessed this raging desire to know why this Irthos fellow stirred such a violent, paroxysmal reaction from her and hearing the plaintive story from Zecilys seemed to be the only way for his curiosity to be sated.

"What happened next?" the Moonstone inquired placidly, "what does all of this have to with Irthos?" At the sound of his name, Zecilys's head jerked up, a rekindled fire in her gold orbs.

"He was the reason for the massacre, for my family's death, for shattering my world!" she spat, wrath awash on her countenance, "Valter, _he was my younger brother and he betrayed me!_"

Like a gushing waterfall the rest of the tale came pouring out, describing how Irthos arrived after Alcyone's suicide, defaming their clan's noble name and then mortally wounding her after she choose to fight him rather than joining his side. "I was so heartbroken and furious at the same time," Zecilys explained after she elaborated her deal with the Grim Reaper, "for Irthos and I were inseparable through out our whole childhood and witnessing him butcher his own kin and laughing manically at his crimes tore my heart apart. It was as if he was a…completely different person." Exhausted and emotionally tried, she rested her head against Valter's chest, unshed tears glimmering in her aurulent eyes.

"Thank you, Valter," she whispered suddenly and the said wyvern knight glanced down at her, a quizzical expression on his pallid features.

"For what?" Zecilys almost smiled at his bemused question.

"For bearing with me while I told you my story, about the debacle of my entire family. And people call you a monster…" she murmured, closing her eyelids as she contently listened to Valter's solid, steady heartbeats to lull her to sleep, utterly missing the subtle, fleeting glint of astonishment in the Moonstone's pupils.

"…You're welcome, Zecilys," he muttered gruffly, doing his utmost best to ignore the familiar, potent emotions for the slumbering female in his arms and her profound, entreating words. Try as he might, Valter begrudgingly realized as he tucked the weary wyvern rider back into her bed that he couldn't fully escape from her or the magnetic power she seemed to unwittingly confine him with.

Compressing a dark, wry chuckle, Valter shook his head amusingly. "It appears that the lovely maiden has ensnared the beast instead," he mused softly himself, his onyx orbs never leaving Zecilys, her face a perfect epitome of tranquility.

* * *

Three days of incessant battling, three days of sloshing through muck, slough, and loam of the Za'abul Marsh, dodging enemy arrows and mystical assaults while trying to maintain their footing. In Ephraim's opinion, this skirmish was by far one of the worse battles they had engaged in since their departure from Frelia Court and he lost count how many fights they landed themselves in. Yet, at last, they were able to taste the sweet, percolating sensation of triumph and victory was theirs.

"Prince Ephraim! The path is cleared! We have taken care of the rest of your foes, we shouldn't have any more trouble until we reach the Grado Keep." announced Forde, trotting up beside the said prince with his horse Odin.

"That's a relief to hear, Forde," replied Ephraim promptly but a fleeting small smile graced his genteel features as he spoke, "How long will it be to Grado Keep?" The scarlet clad cavalier shrugged, his face scrunched up in concentration.

"About three to fours days, give or take. Let's just hope the weather abides us." Ephraim nodded, pondering the selfsame wish as well.

"Yes…let's hope. We better get moving now, if we want to breach the Grado Keep's walls on the third day. The sooner we besiege the palace, the sooner I can rescue Zecilys from the madman Valter's clutches."

Forde cocked his head curiously at his prince, observing him ever so closely as the passion for the turquoise haired mercenary dripped from Ephraim's lips. Sensing this might be the only time he would have the chance to ask him, Forde queried softly, "You truly love her, don't you, Prince Ephraim?"

Ocean blue meet hazel, invoking eerie silence, and for a whimsical second, Forde thought Ephraim wouldn't answer him. The Renais lord tore his discerning gaze from his jaunty companion, lifting his head to the horizon up ahead, where Grado Keep was many leagues away.

"Yes…" he murmured, eyes locked onto the retreating, blending colors of goldenrod, mulberry, emerald, jacinthe, and maiden's blush disseminating across the endless, vacant sky, "I do."

Once more, silence descended upon the two companions yet the hush was more comforting, for they knew how far the prince was willing to go just to retrieve the love of his life.

* * *

Cerulean eyes mercilessly scanned the dim corridors of the palace, making sure no one would be able to interrupt the private meeting that would take place. The arcane figure, shrouded in the shadows, cached herself in a corner away from the candlelight and then waited. A few minutes later, metallic footsteps resonated through out the hallway and stranger snapped herself alert, sky blue orbs zoning in on the shadowy person heading towards her. A wide, toothy beam broke across her alabaster features as she beheld the man approaching her and immediately flicked off the hood that had been covering half her countenance.

"Valter!" she exclaimed softly, eyes alight with transparent joy, "You finally made it!" Without permission on his part, she embraced him, burying her face into his armored chest, relishing the coolness against her cheek. She heard him chortled a bit and glanced up to meet his trademark smirk.

"Why wouldn't I, Olivia? I could never pass up the opportunity to have a chat with my dear cousin," Valter remarked duly, patting the roseate head of his young cousin who was a few years his junior. An amused laugh to match his own bubbled out of Olivia and she withdrew herself from the friendly enfoldment, humor still etched on her unblemished pale features.

"Of course you wouldn't, Valter," she replied drolly, brushing a couple of rosy tresses out of her face, "Not when I have information for you." Her genial, welcoming beam returned as she stared appreciatively at the belligerent wyvern knight society slandered and vilified through out the years, an adoring gleam in her dark pupils. While the rest of the world contemned and forsook him, Olivia would always see him as the protective older cousin who looked after her and her brother. To her, Valter was still the person who had cleaned and bandaged up her cuts and scraps, helped her climb a tree when she was merely four, and dried away her tears when sorrow claimed her. He had been her champion, comforting her while banishing her all fears and worries when she had been frighten of thunderstorms and the feral creatures that lurked underneath her bed. He was like a second brother to her–and an older one to her twin, Crandon, who was a sickly lad since birth. People would say she was deranged to admire such a farouche, bloodthirsty man but Olivia knew better. Everyone else just saw the beastly exterior, his wild mask, never once penetrating his armor and gleaning the heart and soul of the jaded, misunderstood man right in front of her.

Realizing how far she was immersing herself in the past and emotions, Olivia snapped herself out of her nostalgic reverie and collected her bearings as swift as she could.

"Yes, information," mused Valter, his onyx orbs momentarily glazed with an inscrutable impression, "Information on the surviving members of the Turdore family, I presume?" Olivia grinned impishly at his ascertainment, slinging her canvas bag to her side.

"You got that right, Valter. After sniffing out their trail, ruminating and scouring the lands, and offering a bribe or two, I finally uncovered the location of their little hide-out." With a triumphant gesture, she conjured up a scroll with a frayed rope tied around it and handed rolled up papers to Valter's outstretched hand. The Moonstone instantly tore open the scroll, ruthlessly scanning the contents of the report as Olivia watched him with hopeful eyes. After several minutes dwindled away, Valter glanced up, an eager glint in his occult, coal-like pupils.

"They changed their names, those crafty little wretches," he stated in a half-biter tone, "and they're in town Bayerville, alongside the border of Renais and Grado…I should have known."

"I double-checked my sources and the village–they're there all right. I would stake my life and spy career on that," assured Olivia, approaching Valter in a way no man would dare to do, "And Grandma Agatha is willing to help you out, she says she'll be out of your way once you infiltrate the mansion."

She clasped her hands on his arm, gazing up at him with such devotion and admiration that Valter could only stare back, fathoming what his pink-haired cousin would utter next.

"You can avenge us now, Valter, avenge your mother and all that we lost in that horrid day many years ago. You can avenge the loss of Crandon's sight and health and everything dear to you that your father and his kin snatched away from you." The female spy paused, firmly locked her eyes with Valter, espying pieces of the turmoil hidden away in his nigrine pools. When she spoke again, her voice barely reached a whisper.

"But most of all…you can avenge yourself, Valter, for taking all of the blame and sacrificing your rank and freedom for us all when we should have fallen together instead." She smiling softly now, cerulean orbs rife with tranquility and satisfaction that her wronged cousin could finally slake his thirst for vengeance on the very people who robbed him of his life. She and rest of her kinsmen did their part, it would only be fair to leave the rest of the sordid nobles to Valter.

The wyvern knight nodded graciously at Olivia, his features stolid at the moment but Olivia perceived he was grateful of her efforts and would thank her later, once the grisly deed was done.

Sensing she was in danger of overstaying her welcome, Olivia drew the dark grey hood over her rosette head. "Well, I don't want to get caught so I best be off." With a silent exchange of farewells, she furtively slipped out of the corridors, eluding all the castle guards until she reached the back door of the keep and saddled on the horse that was waiting for her, riding hard back to her home. High up in one of the windows, Valter watched her go, half-tempted to pray a safe journey for her but squashed the notion down soon after–Olivia was a superb rider as she was a spy, she didn't need a prayer or protection from the gods.

"As for me…revenge time," he muttered, a darker, more sinister expression emerging on his pallid features. With smooth, quick strides, Valter was back in his quarters, packing his effects and weapons for the sojourn to Bayerville. As he readied himself, one thought flashed in his mind: Zecilys. If he left, he would have to charge someone else to watch over her and after weeks of analyzing her and her actions, he didn't trust anyone to handle her properly.

_Which means…she's going to have to come with me. _

"That should be rather interesting," he murmured gruffly after tightly securing his satchel. Swinging the bindle over his back, Valter exited the room, this time heading straight for Zecilys's chambers.

* * *

_She must know… If she doesn't then the truth will be lost forever and our family will never be truly avenged. _

This thought and similar ones barraged Irthos's mind and his gloved hand clenched tightly into a deadly fist, gilt orbs teeming with frustration and worth. He pulled his cloak closer to his face, the pointy collars obstructing the lower half of his defined features. The perturbed, haunted druid was about to exit the foyer when he heard the distant metallic sounds of armored footsteps and two voices, one male, the other female, conversing to each other. Irthos froze pronto, recognizing the feminine tone all to well.

"Valter, why on earth I am accompanying on this journey that you refuse to enlighten me about?!" exclaimed Zecilys sharply yet she appeared to be rather irked than irate for the most part.

"That's between me and the Emperor," replied the wyvern knight curtly but neither Zecilys nor Irthos caught the lie. Zecilys sighed exasperatedly, fathoming she was kicking a dead horse if she continued.

"I can never get a straight answer out of you, can I?" The Moonstone snickered at her words.

"And what about yourself? You have a fabulous way in speaking in riddles."

"I have _absolutely_ no idea—" Zecilys's voice grew faint as the two wyvern riders left the chamber room, leaving Irthos alone once more. Sucking in his breath, Irthos glanced to the left and right, then quickly over his shoulder before waiting a few minutes to slip out and follow them in a furtive, soundless gait.

* * *

The brilliant, dazzling banners of the Grado Keep ruffled vigorously against the tenacious gale, producing a low, flapping sonance for the weary sentinels' entertainment. The sentries slumped or flopped against the stone walls or corners of the watch towers, mutely thanking the gods that their superiors weren't around to deprive them of such a luxurious rest. One guard was about to nod off when a whizzing noise jerked him awake and he came face-to-face with an arrow spinning directly at him.

"ATTACK! WE'RE—" The arrow cut off his strident cry, lodging itself firmly his now bloody, fleshy throat. The deceased sentry collapsed backwards, the first death for Grado. The air was soon imbued with panicked hollers and rallying shouts.

"To arms men, we're under attack!"

"Prince Ephraim and his army are finally here! Make the Emperor and your country proud and capture him! Do not surrender to the likes of him!"

Meanwhile, down below, Ephraim and his band were waiting patiently in the brush for the gates to be raised so they could rush the squadron of Grado soldiers and infiltrate the castle.

"All right everyone, on my signal, we will burst out the thicket and assail them. Got it?" instructed the Renais prince and his question was followed by a serious of head nods. "Good. Ready…on my signal—"

Just as he had hoped, a small group of knights and cavaliers appeared from the castle, looking wildly for the renegade prince and his platoon. With his raised hand, Ephraim rapidly brought it down and everyone charged forth, catching the bemused Gradans off with their shocking assault.

"At last…the final battle begins," mused Ephraim placidly as he speared the first man in his path, blood sprinkling onto the dewy pale sage grass as the carcass slumped to the ground in front of the wayward prince.

Somewhere, in the distance, there was a caw of a raven, and the day commenced in the fires of combat.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Aurulent- gold

Jacinthe- orange colored

Nigrine- black

So…how many of you desperately want to wring my neck for the excessively long update? Did I lose any of you–I bet I did, that's just the story of my life. I hope the length of this chapter placates you all bit, I hope I can update faster next time.

Well, I'm sure you all are just brimming with questions and I can understand, this chapter was meant to reveal and present plenty. Just out of curiosity, how many of you flipped out or fell off your chair when I mentioned Valter having a cousin? Anyone? –scans the room–

Did anyone notice that I named Alcyone's son after Hector's son and their deaths were the same? I did that on purpose, wanted to plant a little bit of symbolism there.

While I wrap this author's note out, I wish you all Merry Christmas or whatever holiday you celebrate and a Happy New Year, providing if chapter seventeen doesn't come out soon–which it probably won't. But never fear, I have chapter seventeen all plotted out and have an idea for chapter eighteen so perhaps I'll be hit with a wave of inspiration and type like mad. Till then, I bid you all adieu!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	17. Seventeen: Don't Fear the Reaper

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Chapter Seventeen: Don't Fear the Reaper**

Again, so many reviews for a story such as this one! All I have to say is "Wow", "Holy cow!" and "Thank you for reviewing"! FYI, I used an Underworld quote in this, see if you can find it. Just wanted to point that out in case there were any fans of that movie here... Also, I used some of dialogue from the game for Ephraim's conversation with Lyon—just trying to cover my arse here.

**Oriel Kurosaki****: **Hah, with my terribly long update, I wouldn't surprised if you forgot again. It's quite all right, I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. And thank you for pointing that mistake out to me, I took your advice and fixed that sentence up. I recall having some issues with that part and my brain simply wasn't working with me that moment…

**Knives91****: **I'm glad you thought so—I hope this new chapter is also worth the long wait as well. Enjoy and thank you for the constant review! (By the way, in my eyes, your opinion is vital to me.)

**chayaa-chan****: **Haha, I'm glad you don't mind my strange twist of the Magvel world, you're not the first person I have shocked. Be prepared for more surprises for I have much in store, especially with Valter. We're going on a little journey into his childhood in the upcoming chapter.

**ashelia-chan****: **Yep, and this story is going to keep moving downhill with all the events that have to come to pass. I didn't think there was too much flashback, I assayed to balance it out so you guys wouldn't be overwhelmed with all the information. Thanks for reviewing!

**Sivynia****: **Yes, she certainly did but just you wait until you read what I have mapped out for Valter's past. As for Ceyx, yes, he died before the massacre. I'm not sure how I'm going to address his death but if you want to know how he perished, his death is quite parallel to the character Ceyx in the Greek tale of Ceyx and Alcyone. Just type their names into Google and the story will pop up.

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan****: **I'm overjoyed you don't want to off me quite yet. *grins* Now, since you like Olivia so much, you must tell me what you think of Valter's father at the end. He's a nasty piece of work, I'm warning you.

Thanks, I wasn't sure if anyone would notice but I'm glad you did! I actually had that scene planned for quite some time…

Wow, really? That's something; I fathomed the fall of the Melkbane house was tragic but my writing invoking such powerful emotions from anyone never crossed my mind. I was thinking people would be like, "Oh, that's so sad" etc, etc, but never on verge of almost crying. I was shocked and touched when you said that, I guess I know what I'm doing then, eh?

This chapter will answer your ponderings on Valter and Irthos so I'll end this now and let you get to reading!

**jordan yan: **Chapter seventeen comes out…now. Enjoy and thanks for the review!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Lord, if the TSS belonged to me, the differences would be blaringly evident. The pairings, the characters screen time, the plot…stark changes right there. And all that money would be fueled into my plans for world domination.**

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* * *

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_Just as he had hoped, a small group of knights and cavaliers appeared from the castle, looking wildly for the renegade prince and his platoon. With his raised hand, Ephraim rapidly brought it down and everyone charged forth, catching the bemused Gradans off with their shocking assault._

"_At last…the final battle begins," mused Ephraim placidly as he speared the first man in his path, blood sprinkling onto the dewy pale sage grass as the carcass slumped to the ground in front of the wayward prince. _

_Somewhere, in the distance, there was a caw of a raven, and the day commenced in the fires of combat. _

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* * *

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"The whirligig of time brings in his revenges."**-William Shakespeare**

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* * *

**

The moist ground underneath his feet felt soft and firm, muffling all clanging, metallic sounds his armor produced as he approached the black iron gates. Behind those furnished, ornately wrought gates was an enormous, opulent villa, teeming with lush and viridian gardens and jocosely bubbling fountains and private streams. Here was the hidden, clandestine haven the survivors of his father's house cached themselves in–as his cousin Olivia had stated in her reports.

"Valter?"

The hushed, puzzled voice of Zecilys stirred Valter out his imminent reverie and the belligerent wyvern knight glanced back over his shoulder to face the uncertain golden eyes.

"What is it, Zecilys?" he murmured, grasping his silver lance more tautly than before and securing Slivegio's saddle, his face hard and inscrutable as any mask.

"What are we doing here? You didn't speak a word about your journey ever since we left the Grado Keep." Creases formed on her brow while her lips quirked down into a pensive frown. "What's going on?!"

Her answer was silence as Valter continued to prepare himself to enter the compound. Zecilys's frown deepened by Valter's lack of response and his aloof behavior–he certainly had changed over their flight to this strange place. Her patience dwindling, Zecilys opened her mouth, saying, "Valter, I—"

"Zecilys."

His firm use of her name shut her lips up tight and the turquoise-haired rider stared at him with wide eyes as a sober, dark aura shrouded him. Everything about him, his eyes, his visage, and his movements signaled that he was a man on a mission, a mission he intended to succeed in.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Zecilys softly yet lucidly answered, "Yes, Valter?"

She almost didn't expect him to reply but he did, in a nostalgic, robust sort of manner.

"Remember your family and how they were slaughtered?" Valter began, his ebony orbs fixed squarely on the manor. A whimsical, herculean wind from behind blew his navy-blue and charcoal tresses forward, obscuring him from view. "Remember how you pledged to avenge them, no matter what the cost?"

Unable to speak, Zecilys nodded slowly, though she doubt he saw the motion.

"Well, I too have made a vow, a vow of vengeance, if you will," he murmured, tilting his gaze downward, "One forged in the fires of corruption, lies, injustice, and death. A very different kind compared to yours."

"What are you saying?" Zecilys whispered, baffled by this strange, semi-nostalgic admission from the usually farouche and indurated wyvern knight. Without answering, Valter pointed to the elegant, vibrant mansion adorned with luscious gardens and jocund founts with his lance, its deadly tip gleaming ominously from the sun peeking from the murky, farrago of cumulus and stratus clouds.

"In there lies my chance for revenge, not only for myself but for others," Valter explained, his words suddenly too cryptic and succinct for Zecilys to comprehend where he was getting at or why he was telling her all this. She waited for him to start up again but he didn't, he merely turned his head towards her, sable orbs unreadable and gleaming with an impression Zecilys knew she could never fathom no matter how hard she tried. The wyvern rider decided it was best not to argue with him or doing anything that might pique his beastly temper.

"Where I'm about to tread you cannot enter with me. I want you to remain out here, with your wyvern until I return." Zecilys nearly gaped at his words, was he trusting her to be on her own?

_This madness, surely. Why would he do such a thing, it doesn't make any sense!_

But as her golden eyes met his dusky ones, she perceived a silent message in them: _Please don't run away. _Valter the Moonstone, one of the most feared men in all of Magvel, was placing all his trust in her, in spite of the circumstances between them.

An epiphany dawned over her and instead of feeling queasy, reluctant, or uncertain about the situation like a regular person would have been; she experienced a sense of serenity and understanding, and then nodded.

"I'll be right here when you get back," she whispered, her voice mellow and faithful as if she was a woman wishing her husband luck before he marched into battle. Valter returned her head nod with one of his own and mounting his two-legged wyvern, Slivegio, launching themselves at the unsuspecting estate while preparing to slake their vengeance with the blood of their enemies.

Later, Zecilys vowed to ask him about the people who wronged when he came back.

* * *

"Lord Crandon Outterridge, Lady Olivia Outterridge has arrived!"

"Olivia!" gasped a young man who shared identical facial features with the petite, rosette-haired female who entered the main chambers, "Thank the gods you're safe!"

"Why wouldn't I be?" replied his twin sister saucily, sashaying into the room like nobody's business, "None of those twisted, back-stabbing wretches of the Turdore family can stop the likes of me!"

Her brother Crandon gave her a waning, feeble smile, his azure orbs lackluster and opaque as he focused his sight at his vivacious, thrill-seeking sister. Using his walking stick, he slowly step forward, his nostrils flaring as whiffs of sweat, dust, metal, and other scents wafted unceremoniously past his nose. In an instant, Olivia rushed to her brother's side, one arm supporting him as he attempted to walk.

"Brother, please let me help you," she offered, her lively mood evaporating, concern creased on her forehead. Crandon shook his head forcefully, a look of determination flaring all over his face with a strength Olivia had never seen before. Sick and blind, Crandon had to learn to dependent on others, which she knew he despised to no end. However, he hadn't been born with that accursed blindness–that was a gift from the Turdore family.

"How is Valter?" rasped Crandon as Olivia set him down on a settee while several servants rushed to bring him water and something to eat.

"He's on his way to avenge us, Crandon. Once he does, he'll send us word and hopefully, he'll stop by to visit us." Olivia answered, trying to sound hopeful despite her brother's weak, tumultuous condition. Crandon coughed in his arm for a few minutes, a ghastly pallor splashing onto his face as his chest rumbled erratically with pain. Sorrow tinged the roseate-tress spy, even though she was use to all his violent wheezing and coughing fits, witnessing him in so much agony still panged her heart like a dagger sinking its blade into her.

"Crandon, you should be in be in bed, resting," she added, chiding him lightly as he quaffed down an entire glass of water, "Come, I'll—" Crandon whipped his head at her, cerulean eyes blazing with such fire she halted her words immediately.

"_I've rested long enough._" Taken aback by such willpower, Olivia merely nodded at her twin's thick, croaking yet passionate statement, holding her tongue about him going back to bed. "Olivia, when Valter comes, I have a favor to ask of him. I'm going to tell you what I have planned so when he does the deed, no one will think twice about what he did." His puzzled sister nodded her head once more, her pink eyebrows furrowing at Crandon's cryptic behavior.

"All right… What is it?" Leaning in, Crandon cupped his hand and whispered his plan into her ear. Olivia's perplexed expression faded rapidly, eyes widening in utter horror and disbelief, her mouth gaping with shock.

"No!" she hissed, tears brimming her eyelids, "You can't be serious, Crandon!" Her brother withdrew from her, his visage a picture of complete de profundis to match the doleful mood looming over them like an odious, oppressive pall of doom.

"This is my wish, Olivia. I've made up my mind and neither you, Valter, nor anyone else can change it." He reached out to squeeze his silently weeping sister's hand, trying to ease her dolor with a shaky grin. "Please, you have to understand."

"I c-can't," sputtered Olivia, transparent streamlets trickling down her cheeks despite all her attempts to dry them off, "W-Why must you d-do t-this, C-Crandon? Are y-you sure the d-doctors are right? What if t-they are w-wrong?" Her brother shook her head, saying that wasn't possible, and for the first time in awhile, Olivia flung herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably into his neck while he patted her back, whispered soothing, comforting phrases to his twin, much like their mother did with them when their father perished in battle.

_One day, you'll understand, Olivia. One day._

* * *

While his mistress was busy pacing and casting nervous, impatient glances over her shoulder at the splendid manor, Eroniz took the time for another nap. Just as he rested his scaly head onto the soft, sweetly fragranced tussock, a gust of wind suddenly blew all around him, sending a new, strange smell into the wyvern's nose. At first, Eroniz lazily took the scent in, analyzing the incense of darkness, perspire, despair, and magic—

Eroniz's eyes snapped back open, recognizing the scent of the person nearby just as well as he knew Zecilys's. With a savage growl, he nabbed his rider's attention and with his copper orbs, communicated the message: _He's here, Zecilys. The traitor has arrived._

"Impossible!" exclaimed Zecilys, snatching up her steel lance, her face losing all of anxiety and instead, was replaced with deadly resolve. "Where?!"

Uncurling himself, Eroniz directed her towards her younger brother's location and with his massive head, motioned at the sweeping wheaten fields where Zecilys could make out an obscure figure riding a horse emerging out the yellow ochre stalks. Immediately forgetting her promise to Valter, the turquoise-haired warrior mounted Eroniz and they flew towards the rider, startling the mare as they landed right in front of them, blocking the path. Furious amber met perturbed amber, and for a moment, Zecilys thought she was looking into the face of a lost, wandering soul. But the unwonted thought vanished as soon as the notion came and a grim, black smile curled itself upon her sun-kissed features.

"Today is the day we end this, Irthos," she spat at him, jutting her lance at him, "And by the Melkbane's name, I will succeed." As she pounced on him, Irthos sent a wave of Flux at him, forcing her to spin out range.

"I was rather hoping we could avoid this," muttered Irthos plaintively, his throat dry and hoarse as he gazed blankly at his executioner, "But such persuasion would be futile."

"You bet your arse!" retorted Zecilys, hurling a javelin at him and the attack would have struck him if the druid wasn't gifted with quick, nimble reflexes. As Irthos fought back with Nosferatu, he could hear the Demon King cackle with glee inside his head.

* * *

One by one, the pitiable guards fell, unaware of who their unknown killer was.

Valter proceeded into the grounds, laughing to himself how no one was noticing a wyvern on private property. Just as he was about to strategize his entrance, he heard a feminine shriek, followed by a strident lament of, "Beast! There's a hideous creature outside, Mother!"

Slivegio roared indignantly at the female's ignorant screams, his feral yellow eyes gleaming with rage as he bared his pearly-white and razor-sharp fangs at the woman who scampered back inside before Valter could pursue and knock her out. The Moonstone could feel Slivegio bristled at being called 'hideous' and he gave his mount an assuring pat on the neck.

"Ignore the silly chit, Slivegio. We have bigger fish to fry."

Growling in agreement, the wyvern nodded and together, they released a bloodthirsty, inhuman, chilling howl design to chill their enemies' bones, a war cry they had constructed by themselves that fooled the foe into believing they were beings from another world, a place too terrible and dark to speak of.

Once their battle yell was complete, Slivegio launched himself into the open, beckoning windows of the villa, crushing and smashing years of labor into rubble as he and Valter exploded into the extravagant ballroom of the hiding survivors of the Turdore family, baffling them all as dust settled over the richly adorned chamber, a faint comparison to the intimating, beastly mein of the Moonstone and his ultramarine, fierce wyvern.

"Hello, gents," Valter greeted them all with false cheer, eager for some bloodshed as he scanned the crowd, pleased that Grandma Agatha did her job by gathering all the woman, children, and men who were not involved with the Outterridge's debacle away the main room of the manor. He would have to thank her later for her assistance. "Long time, no see. Surprised to see me out of exile?"

In response, the men gawped back at him, too astounded to say anything at first. Then, one of them, with thin brown hair and supporting Valter's nigrine orbs, scowled darkly at the wyvern knight, pure contempt gleaming in the aristocrat's pupils.

"Bah! I can't believe you are my nephew! I told the Emperor to hang you but that pasty, weak-kneed fool wouldn't hear it!" the man spewed, pointing a pudgy finger at Valter accusingly, to which the Moonstone simply rolled his eyes. He had expected some trite, stupid outbursts from some of the nobles here.

"Thank you for your kindness, Uncle," groused Valter, silencing the rest of his uncle's rant, "I always trust to receive a warm welcome from you." Before the room could erupt with more barbs or jeers, the Grado general flourished his silver around, slicing off the head off one of the malefactors.

"Fred Turdore. Raped the daughters of Malcolm and Tina Outterridge and murdered the young sons of Hermann." Valter intoned, his alabaster countenance now completely stoic and impassive. He twirled the silver lance away, sprinkling crimson droplets on the remorseless, cold-blooded aristocrats of the Turdore family, one of the elite nobles of Grado.

"Now…who's next to die?"

* * *

Ephraim wandered the dim corridors of the Grado Keep, hardly believing what had betided a few minutes ago. After they had besieged the castle and fought their way to the throne room, he was met with a mute, expressionless Vigarde who just looked so _lifeless_ as he stared them down. He didn't answer any his or Duessel's questions as they battled, he merely continued to observe them in that listless manner of his, eyes so blank and devoid of life that Ephraim began to sense that something was horribly wrong. And his suspicions were confirmed after Duessel's axe had sunk itself into the Silent Emperor's heart, blood gushing out like a baleful, garnet waterfall, and Vigarde's carcass disintegrated right in front of his very eyes.

Black magic, Duessel had told him, his face a mixture of grief and confusion as he rested his steel axe against armrest of the throne and began cleaning the blade. While his troupe was cleaning themselves up and attending to their wounds, Ephraim decided to take a patrol around the castle to make sure all the enemy soldiers had been taken care of.

"Hello, Ephraim. I've been waiting for you. Looks like you've beaten my father. I thought you might...You really are powerful, aren't you?"

Whirling around, the Renais prince faced the ominous, smirking appearance of his childhood companion, Prince Lyon. Ephraim felt the grip on his lance slacken a bit as he stared dubiously into the insidious light swirling madly in the Grado prince's pupils.

"Lyon! Is that you? Lyon, you must tell me! What has happened here in Grado?" Ephraim demanded, receiving no response from the said spell-caster, "Why are you in this place? Your father... Emperor Vigarde, why didn't you stop him? Don't tell me you're caught up in this madness, too! Answer me, Lyon! You always told me you wanted what your father wanted–peace!"

For a moment, Lyon seemed sympathetic, sad even. "I...I...I...Urgh!" An unreadable impression flickered over Lyon's waxy face, as if he was struggling with some inner turmoil. But the strange expression disappeared and he straightened himself once more, pure malice gleaming freely in his gray orbs. "Let me tell you something, Ephraim. I've been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time."

No words came out of Ephraim's mouth for they were promptly lodged in throat. He couldn't speak, this couldn't be his best friend, Lyon, who was generous, selfless, and compassionate. This wasn't the Lyon he knew!

"I will make the world Grado's–no, _my_ plaything. I've been planning this my whole life. Why else would I befriend you and Eirika? I needed to learn where and how to attack and destroy Renais... Thanks to the two of you, I learned all I needed to know. While you feigned compassion for my weakness and scorned me in your hearts."

Shock unfolded across the aquamarine-headed lord's unblemished features, how could Lyon say such a thing? "What?! Lyon... You're wrong. We never—"

"And then my chance arrived," resumed Lyon, as if Ephraim had never opened his mouth, "I replaced my useless father, readied my tools, and set my plan in motion. I began by destroying Renais... And then I murdered your father." He guffawed demonically over the prince's protests, relishing the pain spreading though Ephraim's true blue eyes and across his visage. Such mental torture was always a delight for him.

"Shall I tell you a story? Would you like to hear of your father's last moments? You'll laugh really. Your father's such a weakling, and yet he tried so hard..."

Something inside of Ephraim snapped, whether it was his friend's haunting words or the sickeningly gleeful tone in his voice. "Lyon! No more insults to my father, or I may forget myself!" His threat only incited more laughter and snickers, a look of regalement awash on Prince Lyon's face.

"Oh, are you angry, Ephraim! But, not even you can stop me now. The stones of Frelia and Grado are dust, and Jehanna's is soon to follow...which leaves only two more... I will destroy them one at a time...I shall see my dream fulfilled..."

"What?!" demanded Ephraim, his rage starting to get the best of him as he behold his once dear comrade manifest his diabolical scheme to him, an air of pure and utter malign and evil shrouding the young monarch, nearly choking all the oxygen out Ephraim as he tried to level his eyes with Lyon's but found the task difficult to do.

"And before I depart, Ephraim, I just want you to be aware of that friend of yours, the turquoise-haired girl–Zecilys, was it?–is not here. You won't find her, she is beyond your reach."

The mentioning of the love of his life sparked new power and ferocity in the depths of Ephraim's soul and his lips twisted into a grimace of ire. "Lyon! What do you know of Zecilys? Where is she?! Tell me, I need to know!"

Now, there were many entities the Demon King enjoyed and inflicting pain on others was a prime one. However, spreading lies was another vice he adored and he learned over his past life that lies could weaken a man, bring down his morale and strength, and fester the open wounds while his soul burned and rotted within. Canards could crush, demolish, _efface_ a man, a glorious kingdom, an entire nation which was why the infernal monster loved telling them so much.

"If you find Valter the Moonstone, you'll find her. But she's not the same woman she use to be, no, not at all. She's a shattered, withering shell, chained to Valter and his whims. He had fun breaking her on the night he decided to take her frail virginity." With a final, sinister laugh, Lyon warped away, leaving a speechless Ephraim behind.

Zecilys…**raped**. Defenseless, broken, and alone. All because he couldn't get to her sooner, he failed her, failed to save her.

He choked and sputtered, feeling a large welt lodged agonizingly in his throat as he tried to sort of his thoughts out. His breathing quickened, becoming harder, more haphazard and heavy until it felt like he was breathing underwater and he couldn't escape this dreaded nightmare—

"Ephraim?"

Head snapping up, Ephraim faced the concerned visage of Forde and relaxed himself, he can't tell Forde what he just learned. It would involve too many questions and right now, he had not the strength nor will to answer them.

"What is it, Forde?" he inquired plainly, managing to keep his voice controlled and even.

"Commander Duessel and I found a prisoner named Knoll in one of the cells. He claims he knows why all this happening: Grado's invasion, the war, everything." explained the pony-tailed cavalier while the two men strode down the ghastly, haunted hallways. "Amelia right now is feeding him and giving the chap some water, the fellow hasn't eaten for days." Ephraim nodded, his mind a raging, torrent whirlpool as he struggled to digest all this while holding his own emotions at bay.

"I see… I have to talk to Knoll. He could be our only clue to why all Grado has been swallowed into such madness and chaos."

"I had feeling you would say something like that–the dungeons are over to your right," Forde replied swiftly, pointing to the wooden door with iron bars nailed right in top center.

Muttering a soft "Thank you" to Forde, Ephraim descended into the jail cell, greeted with the sight of Amelia gently handing a shaman some bread and her flask of water as he greedily absorbed both her offerings in an alarming pace. Once Knoll's lips were moist and ready to speak, the troubled, deprived shaman cleared his throat and told the Renais prince the woeful, tragic tale of how trouble first began for Grado.

* * *

Ragged breaths parted from two beings, one dressed in sable robes with pumpkin orange trimmings, and the other clad in deep grey armor with dark umber designs around the shoulder and breast plates. The druid stood up, brushing a navy blue strand out of his eyes while his opponent furiously blew some turquoise tresses aside.

"Zecilys…please, I need you to listen to me," implored Irthos, gasping for more air as Zecilys and Eroniz shifted slightly to plan their next assault, "before it's too late—"

"I am through listening to you!" Zecilys snarled contemptuously, thrusting her lance out and he dodged the butt of the pike, hurtling another whorl of Flux at his sister. Once he was at a safe distance, he tried again.

"For you own safety, please, hear me out!" he cried, desperation and frustration laced with his words as he bored his gilt-hued orbs at Zecilys. His surprising plea halted Zecilys for a moment, bemused by her younger brother's strange antics.

"What on earth—" Her demands died instantly as she beheld all color drained from Irthos's face, his mouth so tight and rigid Zecilys thought he in some sort of mental pain, raging a war inside of him. Suddenly, he collapsed to the ground, gasping and clawing at the soul, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Flee, Zecilys! Flee…before I kill you…" And then, his body jerked around and his head dropped a bit, lifting itself up after a few seconds to present the stunned wyvern rider a countenance of vile and boundless evil.

"**Zecilys,**" purred Irthos, or what seemed to be him, "**I had a feeling you one day meet me again and try to claim your brother's life. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to crush that dream of yours, I need Irthos…my host has to be alive only for a little longer."**

"Who are you?!" hollered Zecilys, recalling that cruel face from the day of her family's massacre, "What you talking about?!" _He's the one I saw slaughtering all my family members! But this doesn't make any sense, it's like this creature and my brother are two different people living in one body…_

As if he was reading her thoughts, the new Irthos cracked a morbid, insidious grin. **"Haven't you figured it out already? All your life you thought it was Irthos the one who killed the Melkbane House but all along, it was me, masquerading as your brother so I could amuse myself with the death of your pathetic people." **

Zecilys was torn between astonishment, horror, and ire. How dare he treat her family's life so carelessly, like they had no meaning at all, and then spout all those disgusting words with her brother's mouth, in his body nonetheless!

"Answer me: Who are you?!" she demanded fiercely, craving to silence this fiend's voice once and for all. Her adversary chuckled morbidly at her commanding question, an eerie glow in his darken eyes.

"**I am the Demon King, foolish human."**

Those words alone served as the arrow that pierced Zecilys's heart, shattering it into a thousand of immeasurable pieces, crumbling the fragments to dust. Her brother, her dear, sweet brother (who had been innocent for all these years) was a puppet of the one most notorious and despicable demons in all of Magvel, a vassal for the most sordid monster ever to draw breath in this world. For a moment, time stopped and Zecilys could barely breath, her body frozen and unwilling to move.

"No…" she whispered, tears prickling in her eyes, "How…?"

"**What's this? Crying already?" **sneered the Demon King as he cocked his head at the anguished wyvern rider, **"I wonder what Valter saw in you—" **Faltering, he grunted and the growled, muttering some curses as he struggled to maintain his control over Irthos's body but for the first time in his life, he was losing.

"Zecilys!" The said female slowly looked up, seeing the face of her brother, an expression of pain and regret as he locked his golden eyes with hers, his power over the Demon King rapidly evanescing.

"Irthos, I'm so sorry," she choked out, wanting to wrap her arms around him and trap him into an embrace in hope of their love could banish the Demon King from his body. Irthos shook his head sorrowfully at Zecilys's words, his lips quirking into a sad, but forgiving smile.

"Don't be, none of this is your fault—" He stiffened again, doubling over in agony as he fought against the demon within him, "Zecilys! In my satchel is my journal, mine and Alcyone's relics, you need to get yours out of the tomb of our ancestors!" He flailed once more but kept himself under control as he resumed his final speech.

"My journal will tell you what happened to me and there's note addressed to a woman that I love, I want you to find her and give it to her." Irthos winced, sweat flowing down the sides his face like rivulets. "And my last request for you is...to kill me."

"What?!" gasped Zecilys, a tear escaping her, "No, I can't! I'll find a way to save you, maybe Valter knows—"

"The Demon King has a strong hold over me, Zecilys, and he'll murder countless of other innocents like our family with my body. I don't want to be used as a tool of destruction and death. So please…don't let the Melkbane Massacre repeat itself. End my life, once and for all."

With a heavy heart, Zecilys dismounted Eroniz and approached her dying brother carefully, noting he still was clinging to the last, remaining fragile strands of control he had before the Demon King took over him completely again.

"Quickly! I'm can only hold him off for a few more minutes," gasped Irthos. Uttering nothing, Zecilys took him in her arms and kissed his forehead affectionately, her sight already blurred by the tears clouding her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She would be the last thing he ever saw before death claimed him.

"I will see you soon, Irthos," she murmured to him lovingly and taking her lance, plunged the honed tip deep into the possessed druid's stomach, a detrimental groan rended from his cracked lips. Blood coated the lance's staff and Zecilys's hands but she paid no attention to the mess that oozing onto her, she had eyes for Irthos only. Sobs wracked the bereaved rider even more from the final words of Irthos.

"_Thank you…"_

* * *

"I never thought I would see you again, Valter."

The said general shot a death glare at the man who had spoken, a wild growl erupting from his throat. In front of him stood one of the most handsome, dashing young man Grado had ever been blessed with. Tall, slender, and wiry, his features were pale and smooth, compliment by blonde, angelic locks that artistically framed his regally shaped visage. His coal-black eyes were the only offset to his features, pools of darkness that were identical to Valter's. In short, he looked like an angel from above but Valter knew the monster than laid underneath that elegant, charming veneer.

"That's because you hoped I would have died during my time in exile," the Moonstone groused, "Isn't that right, _Father_?"

His father sighed, his face blasé as he observed his only son with bored detachment. "Is this what Éliane bore from her womb all along? A fractious, uncouth savage? How utterly shameful…I should have never married that tramp."

"_**I should have never married that tramp…"**_

All waning restraints in Valter vanished instantly and he struck his ill-prepared father in the shoulder, crimson splotches staining his pristine silk tunic of sapphire. "_Don't you ever say that, don't you ever call Mother that!" _roared Valter , griping his hand around his father's spiny throat, "_If it wasn't for you, she would still be alive!"_

In the midst of Valter's fury, his father managed to collect his bearings and utter a spell for Fire. Detecting the flagrant aristocrat's intentions, Slivegio somersaulted himself and his wyvern knight out of the infernal, pernicious flames' reach and faced Stojan Turdore once more. Now, his father's cool demeanor had evaporated, a jaundiced expression shadowing over his pale, ethereal visage. His abysmal orbs were two black holes of violence and unfettered animus.

"That trollop thought she could leave me–that worthless bag of trash!" spewed Stojan, hurling another round of Fire at his son, who deftly eluded the attack. "I couldn't let that witch tarnish my reputation, after you so idiotically decided to join the Grado Army inside following your destiny of becoming the noble you were born to be! If Éliane succeed in leaving me, I would have been a laughingstock amongst my peers!" He now couldn't control himself, his volatile temper had gotten the best of him and he now was aimlessly shooting streams of fire at Valter with no rhyme or reason, making it easier for the wyvern knight to finally bypass his father's raging attacks and embed his spear into Stojan's chest.

"And all this time, I was the one who carried the title as a monster," Valter mused bitterly to his dying father, blood pouring from him everywhere: the corner of his mouth, the wound in his chest and the gash on his shoulder. Despite him being at Death's door, Stojan fleered malignantly at him, hacking up some blood and other fluid prior to replying.

"Of course, the world is full of fools and morons. Most people will believe in everything in they hear, kings and beggars alike. That's why it's fun to manipulate them."

Valter didn't reply, he simply dug his spear deeper into his father, wrenching a wheezing, painful gasp from his sanguinary lips. "I hope you die when all your glory and strength is gone. I hope your death is excruciating."

This time, a black smirk slithered across Valter's alabaster features as he gazed forebodingly into his father's obsidian pupils, the mirror reflection of his own. "And I can only pray you rot and burn in the seven fires of Hell." With that said, he drove the lance up further until vermillion liquid splashed him in the face and the butt of his spear punctured the contorted, shrunken heart of his father.

_Vengeance…at last. _

Dumping his father's corpse aside, Valter mounted Slivegio and they flew out of the wreckages of the mansion, noticing in the distance how his grandmother, Agatha, was busy ushering the innocent ones into carriages. As if she sensed his presence, the old woman pivoted around slowly to see the shadowy image of her grandson and lifted her arm up as a gesture of 'thank you'. Because of him, she and rest of kin were free, they could return back home and reconcile with the Outterridge family in hopes of a better future together.

Nodding at his grandma's unspoken gratitude, Valter urged Slivegio back to the where he left Zecilys for he had no desire to linger around this deplorable place. As they approached the tiny grove, it was apparent Zecilys nor her wyvern were there. At first, pure rage flared inside the Moonstone–_the blasted chit lied to me!_–yet his animalistic temper came to halt when he detected a faint, wavering scent of copper in the air. Being the bloodthirsty, farouche man he was, Valter knew exactly what that smell meant.

Blood had been shed.

* * *

Cradling the lifeless form of her brother in her arms, Zecilys permitted misery to engulf her, swallow her whole as rivers of cri de coeur coursed down her face, sliding past her chin and onto the blood-stained robes of the deceased druid.

As the young female wept her heart out, a chill settled over the atmosphere and all critters scattered back to their dens or nests for they knew what omen would be appearing to present itself to the world and the grieving wyvern rider.

"Zecilys…" The spine-tingling, smooth timbre of a glacial, impassive being ensnared Zecilys's attention and she begrudgingly looked up to share gazes with Death, the Grim Reaper himself. The death god was clad in a plain ebony robe, a hood covering majority the of his visage while an elegant, beautifully polished and sharpened sickle flanked his side as he approached Zecilys and Irthos's cadaver.

"You know why I have come."

Tears blotting her image, she nodded. "Yes, I do. It's over now…there's nothing I can do now." Closing her eyes, she bent her head down till it rested on her brother's chest, waiting for the sweet release of death. She could feel the Reaper hover over her, like a vulture ready to pluck out its prize from rotting carrion, his arctic, musty aura practically clogging her senses and she held her breath, perceiving this was it, this was when she would die and see her family again, in Heaven's embrace.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Eyes snapping open, Zecilys jerked her head to behold Valter standing right in front of her, his lance pointing menacingly at the Reaper to prevent him from coming any closer to Zecilys. Even though she couldn't see them, Zecilys bet the Reaper's eyes were flashing irately.

"Mortal, this is does not concern you. This maiden struck a bargain with me and it's time for her to pay up. I am suppose to have her and her brother's souls." The Moonstone simply pierced the death god with a dark glower, his midnight orbs saying otherwise.

"Either way, you are going to have the brother's soul and I have no arguments with that. But did you realize that inside that boy's body in another soul, one more powerful than them both? Don't you see it?"

The Reaper faltered, cocking his head to listen to Valter's words and abruptly, his fathomless eyes took on a new luster as he swept his scrutiny upon the carcass of Irthos Melkbane. "You're right…he carries a half of the Demon King's soul within him," muttered Death in semi-pleased tone, "Just what are you proposing, General Valter?"

Whether he was shocked that the death god learned his name or not, Valter did not show such emotion. "Instead of claiming Zecilys's soul, take the Demon King's as a replacement. I'm sure having that fiend's spirit to burn in all eternity will be much more delightful for you then sending both siblings into heaven. Am I correct?"

The Reaper's mouth curled upwards into a surreal grin and he nodded, accepting Valter's deal. "You speak the truth, Valter, survivor of a djinn possession. For years I have longed to have the Demon King's soul in my hands but those headstrong humans simply had to seal his soul away and ruin my ambition. But not today…today he's _mine._"

He then leaned over Irthos's body, taking a bright haematic apple from the sleeve of his robe and suspended the crimson token over the druid's waxen visage. Valter kept Zecilys close to him, his grasp unyielding, tight, but not over-bearing. In awe and astonishment, the two wyvern riders watch the spirit of Irthos climb right out of his sanguinary corpse, compelled by the magnetic power of the apple of life. Irthos dubiously took the Reaper's hand, glancing back at Zecilys with a steady, farewell grin on his face.

"See you later, Zecilys," he called out to her. She replied with a wave, repeating the same message back to him.

"Now, Demon King," muttered Death blithely, "Judgment has come for you!" When the statement left his lips, he sank his hand through the bloody carcass, ripping out a murky, caliginous shadow from the body, an inhuman scream rattling from the Demon King's fragmented soul.

"**You haven't beaten me! The other half of me is still around, my second host hasn't died on me yet!" **

"Like I care," grumbled the Reaper while he shoved the seething, demonic apparition into one of the seals on the blade of his sickle. Grasping the hand of Irthos, the death god spared not a single glance to Valter and Zecilys as he drifted up into the cloudy sky with the middle child of the Melkbane Manor in hand, the two figures melting away from view until only there were clouds taking the spot where they once were.

Shaking his head from the baffling, grisly events, Valter looked down only to find Zecilys collapsed in his arms, her head rolled over with her eyelids shut tightly. Her chest rose in and out, conveying she was merely sleeping. The death of her brother and what had betided to him had taken their toll on her and rest finally claimed her.

_It isn't every day someone escapes a bargain with Death. _

Brushing the lone musing aside, Valter hoisted the slumbering female up onto Slivegio's saddle, Eroniz sidling next to the two-legged wyvern to show he would follow them wherever they went.

"Next stop, Outterridge estate. I have some joyous news to spread to some cousins of mine," Valter informed Slivegio and without a moment to lose, Slivegio rocketed himself into the air, Eroniz not to far behind as they traveled back to Grado, back to one of the last places of the Moonstone's dark, troubling past.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Nigrine- black

Haematic- blood-colored

So much to say… This was certainly a light, fluffy, and charming little chapter, wasn't it? Full of cheer and happiness.

Putting my sarcasm aside, I managed to hurl over another main point in this story: Zecilys fulfilling her revenge. Even though that's over, there is still much that needs to be done! Next chapter Valter's dreary past will be revealed (wasn't his father just peachy?) so get ready for so more tragedy, wore, and despair. I swear, my chapters are getting increasingly darker and darker and more depressing along the way—I think some comic relief is in order.

Now, I reckon many of you are abuzz with questions, like what Crandon told Olivia that disturbed her so (you'll found out in the next chapter), what Crandon is suffering from, who Zecilys is going to end up with, and so forth. Well, for those who are curious, Crandon has ailment called Kartagener's syndrome and it's a lung disease in which the cilia inside the lungs are unable to move hence mucus clogs up fast and induces wheezing and coughing. As for who Zecilys ends up with, the decision will be hinted at the desert fight and I think that might be in chapter nineteen so it's coming out really soon.

Review, fave, alert, whatever floats your boat but flamers will be visited by Riev who will be break-dancing to "I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt" while wearing the typical Hawaiian girl outfit. Mental images attacking you yet?

Well, I bid you all adieu until the next update!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	18. Eighteen: Twilight Zone

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Chapter Eighteen: Twilight Zone**

Wow, I still manage to obtain some reviews after so long… You have my gratitude, readers and reviewers!

**Knives91: **I know, don't you love it when I do that? I'm a master of popping wherever I please and startling the crap out of everyone. Heh heh heh…enjoy this newest chapter!

**Sivynia****: **Zecilys was never raped, the Demon King just lied to Ephraim to screw around with his mind and inflict pain. The Demon King is one enormous sadist if you couldn't tell. Sorry for making you wait for the update; the length of this one wasn't so great either.

**jordan114725****: **I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the last chapter so much. Revenge themes and battle scenes are my forte–can't get enough of them. As for Valter perishing in the Jehanna desert…you'll see.

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan****: **This chapter should hopefully answer all your queries about Crandon and potential any others. Heh, I recall you first wanted Zecilys to be with Ephraim so I was quite surprised to see you were going both ways. Well, chapter nineteen will definitely imply who Zecilys will end up with for certain.

In this chapter and the next, you'll really feel some sympathy for Valter, his father was an ultimate douche (it's shame I couldn't make Olivia actually say that, otherwise I would if during the Shakespearean times 'douche' was a word they used in those times…) like you noticed. I'm going to have fun delving more into Valter's past. Enjoy this next chapter–and sorry for the extremely ludicrous wait!

**batSkull****: **Yes, another reviewer! Thank you for stopping by and sharing your input. Glad you like my portrayal of Valter; unlike many people here, I don't loathe him at all and find him to be one of the best characters in Sacred Stones. He's a villain who has the potential to be one badass anti-hero, in my opinion.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Like I stated in the past, the Sacred Stones doesn't belong to me but you never know, that could change with Christmas rolls in… *insert demonic laughter here***

* * *

_Shaking his head from the baffling, grisly events, Valter looked down only to find Zecilys collapsed in his arms, her head rolled over with her eyelids shut tightly. Her chest rose in and out, conveying she was merely sleeping. The death of her brother and what had betided to him had taken their toll on her and rest finally claimed her. _

It isn't every day someone escapes a bargain with Death.

_Brushing the lone musing aside, Valter hoisted the slumbering female up onto Slivegio's saddle, Eroniz sidling next to the two-legged wyvern to show he would follow them wherever they went._

"_Next stop, Outterridge estate. I have some joyous news to spread to some cousins of mine," Valter informed Slivegio and without a moment to lose, Slivegio rocketed himself into the air, Eroniz not to far behind as they traveled back to Grado, back to one of the last places of the Moonstone's dark, troubling past. _

* * *

"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"**-William Shakespeare**

* * *

Seconds ticked by and all Olivia Outterridge could do was pace about and glance at the open window every now and then, as if she expected to see a tiny figure of a wyvern flying towards their manor any moment now. Her mind was a wreck, frantically swirling with chaotic, sorrowful musings about her twin brother's words…his final request. A giant welt formed portentously in the young rogue's throat and she nervously swallowed the lump back down, trying to do anything possible to alleviate this impressible pall of dread and doom that shrouded over her like a plague.

_Maybe this is what Crandon experiences on a regular basis…perhaps that's why he says he has had enough. _

"Any sign of him yet?"

The voice of her brother jerked Olivia out of her dreary reverie and she shook her head slowly. "No, not now. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll be here soon!" she added cheerfully, attempting to lift Crandon's spirits up, even if only a little.

"I hope so," he whispered, concern etched on his pale, sweaty visage, "If there's anyone who can avenge us and the whole Outterridge House, it's Valter. Vengeance will be his…"

On cue, a dark speck emerged from the cloudy, bleak sky, growing larger and larger with every passing second. Olivia stopped and stared at the mysterious fleck in the clouds, wondering if that was really Valter up there, coming down to deliver them news of his success.

_Gods, I hope so. _She pushed all thoughts of doubt out of her mind, Valter would never let failure be an option when it came to righting the wrongs of his family–his mother's family. After all, his monster of a father and the majority of his relatives were the ones who started all this madness.

As the shape loomed closer to the manor and the features became clearer, a bright beam worked its way across Olivia's face at the sight of her cousin finally coming home. Taking her brother's hand, she squeezed it tightly before whispering:

"He's here, Crandon. Our dear cousin has come home at last."

* * *

Valter had envisioned returning back to home of his youth for years but either his exile or Grado's endless tasks of conquest and domination prevented him from paying a visit to the surviving Outterridge family members. Unlike the rest of society, they viewed him as their champion, the man who brought justice to them when the laws of mankind did not. After being consistently vilified and feeling like a beast for so long, it had always felt rather strange to be someone's hope instead of their scourge.

Sleeping soundly between his arms was Zecilys, whose face bore a soft mark of tranquility. Her mouth was slightly parted and her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, steady pattern. Strange as it sounded, she seemed to be at peace, despite all the hardships she had underwent. Glancing down at the turquoise-haired rider, Valter noted she still gripped Irthos's satchel fiercely even as she slept, daring anyone to pry her precious bundle for her fingers.

As Slivegio safely landed in front of the Outterridge villa, Zecilys's eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of groggy, uncertain gold eyes. Eroniz, her mount, was right behind them.

"Valter?" she whispered, ensnaring the said wyvern knight's attention, "Where are we?"

"The Outterridge estate," he answered automatically, swinging one leg over the saddle and landing firmly on the ground. He reached both arms out to help Zecilys dismount. "My home, to be candid."

Zecilys nearly tumbled out of the saddle right when he uttered those words.

"Your home?!" she exclaimed, discombobulating her legs from the stirrups. Smirking, Valter nodded silently before freeing her from all the leather and metal.

"That's correct. Well, this place belongs to my mother's side of the family." The Moonstone added prior to when a petite female supporting vibrant pink hair and crystal blue eyes raced out of the grand, luxurious palace, pure exuberance blossoming across on her fair features.

"Valter! Thank the gods you're safe!" she cried out, flinging her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly, armor and all. A brief stab of jealously coursed through Zecilys but she suppressed the raging emotion immediately; this had to be a relative of his, not some sweetheart from long ago (that notion was presumably laughable at best). Still, Zecilys almost envied how Valter granted this peculiar young woman a hint of a smile, his usually distant and arcane onyx eyes lighting up when he was around her.

"Olivia, you know those miscreants were no match for me," Valter told her with a trace of amusement, "'Tis a pity you had to miss the show. You would have enjoyed making them beg for mercy."

Olivia flashed him a devious smirk, one that Zecilys noticed looked eerie similar to Valter's. "You deserved to be the one to carry out the sentence, Valter. After all—" Upon seeing Zecilys awkwardly standing off to the side, she abruptly came to a halt and her face glowed with newfound joy.

"Valter, you dog! Shame on you for not telling me!" she exclaimed, smacking his arm. Before Zecilys could even introduce herself, let alone get a word in, the golden-eyed rider found herself trapped in a gigantic bear hug and having her lungs being squeezed up into her throat.

"What are you jabbering about?" muttered Valter exasperatedly although his smirk widen as he witness the pained look on Zecilys's visage, "And Olivia, you might want to release Zecilys if you don't want kill her."

"Ah! Sorry!" Olivia immediately withdrew herself and Zecilys was able to breathe once more. The roseate-haired lady then whirled around to face the Moonstone, putting her hands on her hips while shooting him an arched glare. "And when were you, Valter the oh so mighty and 'scary' Moonstone, going to tell me about your lover?"

Dead silence greeted her question. Zecilys's jaw dropped, cheeks flaming and red as a peony. Valter, on the other hand, was motionless and apathetic, his face an alabaster mask. Olivia whipped her head back and forth, a quizzical expression adorning her countenance.

"What? What did I say?" she queried, arching a brow, "Was your relationship suppose to be a surprise or something?"

Zecilys decided she had to say something or else everything would just get even more uncomfortable. "Um, Valter and I," she began, feeling her face grow hotter with every second as Olivia's stunning azuline gaze zoned in on her, "He and me, well, we really…I mean, we aren't—"

"Zecilys and I are not together." Valter's clear-cut timbre rang through the air like a sword slicing through chilling winter air and Zecilys wasn't too sure if she felt relieved or almost sadden by his words. The strange sensation was akin to an arrow piercing her heart and letting the shattered, shredded pieces fall where they may.

"Oh." It was Olivia's turn to flush crimson and she emitted a nervous laugh. "Hehehehe, my mistake. Forget that ever came out of my mouth, follow me, you two."

* * *

It had been several years since Valter had last laid eyes on his sickly cousin, Crandon. Ever since they first met, Valter took it upon himself to watch over Crandon and Olivia, they were the only friends he truly had when he was younger. But Crandon's grave malady always gave him a disadvantage over the others and was occasionally teased mercilessly for it. One idiot was foolish enough to challenge his manhood and that was where Crandon finally snapped, completely slaughtering the youth in a bout of fencing. After that, no one really bothered Crandon (although Valter clobbering all his cousin's bullies until they went home sobbing to their mothers did contribute the decline of taunts as well).

"Valter?" called out Crandon, lifting his head up. A few strands of his finely trimmed obsidian hair flopped across his ashen, crumpled visage. "Is that you?"

"Who else would be?" he answered, regalement interlaced in his timbre. "How are you feeling, Crandon?"

"Like horse dung," was the reply. Valter chuckled lightly, silently marveling how Crandon could still pop sarcastic jests even when he was grievously ill.

"That's to be expected, I suppose." The wyvern general paused, taking a chair and pulling it beside his cousin's bed. He sat down and then resumed talking. "Olivia tells me you have a request for me."

Crandon nodded. "But first," he croaked, "Did you kill the men who raped and murdered Olivia's and my mother?"

"I certainly did. Every Turdore who was responsible for the intrusion and carnage of Outterridge manor was punished, I saw to it. Grandma Agatha assisted me by getting the innocent ones out of the way. They'll be free from the strict, binding laws of the Turdore House that had suppressed them since the gods know for how long."

Satisfaction bloomed across Crandon's features and he eased back into his bed, a small smile gracing his lips. "Good," he uttered firmly, content flooding through his senses, "Now those blackguards have been taken care of, I can finally rest in peace."

Valter snapped his head violently in Crandon's direction, not believing what he just heard. "Pardon?" he demanded, halfway up from his chair. Saying nothing, Crandon merely turned his head around so his eyes, scarred and ruined forever thanks to a blade of a Turdore, could singe the Moonstone with its milky white depths. "What's going on, Crandon?"

The said man sighed, then began hacking tumultuously, his whole body shuddering and twitching from the magnitude of the cough. Valter reached out and gave his cousin's shoulders a few hearty pats before the convulsing ebbed off and the young lordling could breathe easier.

"Valter, the doctors claim that I am dying. This accursed malady has finally taken its toll on me and very soon, in a couple of months, I will be dead." The harsh finality of his words washed over the Moonstone, akin to icy ocean waves crashing down on him, assaying to smother him alive. Valter said nothing, he only stared down at Crandon in baffled silence while the sickly man went on.

"I don't want spend the rest of my life chained to this bed, depending on others while I waste away into an empty shell. I want to die with what little dignity and pride I have left." There was a rustling of sheets and Crandon revealed a small, ornate dagger he kept underneath his pillow. He passed the blade to Valter, who wordlessly took it, incredulity gleaming in his nigrine eyes.

"I don't have the heart to make Olivia commit the deed, the act will tear her up inside and the last thing I desire to do is hurt my sister. She knows about this, Valter, and she'll came to your aid should anyone question your actions." Crandon finished firmly, leveling his blind gaze to Valter's. The wyvern knight looked down at the weapon cradled in his hands, a shaft of light from the candelabra glistening against the stainless steel blade, the gold and bejeweled hilt appearing innocent against his cold, alabaster skin. For the first time in many a year, the belligerent, ruthless wyvern general of Grado hesitated to take the life of another.

"Crandon, why—" He faltered, knowing full well why Crandon wanted this bitter deed to be carried, he just stated his reasons beforehand. Valter could hear the demon within him sneering nastily, reprimanding on how feeble and incompetent he was and human life was refuse, nothing worth trifling over. Yet Valter always managed to compress the djinn's malicious mutterings and take control over himself once more. Although there were times he wondered if one day, the remnants of the monster from Duessel's possessed lance would finally shatter the mental tethers he had chained to the demon and conquer his body, soul and all.

_Then this land would definitely be doomed, given to the fact there's already one demon bent on achieving total domination over mankind._

"Valter…you must do this." Crandon's wavering, thick tenor broke through the Moonstone's perturbed musings and he glanced back at his cousin, noticing how still and poised he was, completely ready for death. Kneeling down at his bed side, Valter positioned the dagger over his heart, the muscles in his arm tightening as he schooled a stoic demeanor onto his countenance, lips firmly set as thin, grim line.

"I know, Crandon," he murmured hoarsely, prepared to bring the dagger down, "I know."

In one swift fluid action, the blade sliced through Crandon's body, piercing his heart and ending his life–and pain–right then and there.

* * *

"So…you're Valter's cousin, right?"

"Correct!" Olivia responded blithely, although the tone of her voice seemed forced and her genial smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you wish to eat anything?" Zecilys shook her head fiercely.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

Silence followed her reply and to occupy her time, Zecilys let her eyes wander around the entertainment room, taking in the rich, vivid colors that decorated the walls, furniture, and carpets. The place reminded her too much of her ruined home and a stinging pang of agony zapped right through her, mocking her that she had no family left, that she was all alone is this world.

"How do you know Valter, Zecilys?" Olivia's inquiring voice brought Zecilys back into the present and out her sorrowful state. Redirecting her golden eyes to the celeste ones of the rosette-haired spy, Zecilys abruptly was at a loss of words. What on earth could she possibly say–that she was a prisoner of Grado and Valter was charged to keep an eye on her?

_Strangely enough, he doesn't really treat me like one anymore. Perhaps I'm only imagining that._

"It's a long story," she finally answered, wishing she could be more specific without lying through her teeth, "Frankly, I wouldn't want to bore you with all the details."

Olivia nodded yet evidently wasn't satisfied with Zecilys's answer. "Fine, fine, be all mysterious with me." All of sudden, her disgruntled expression melted away and a more amiable one took its place although her eagerness seemed rather diluted, like a cloud of doom and bereavement was looming over her head. "Would you like me to give you a tour of the palace?"

For the first time since the death of her brother, Zecilys felt herself smile at Olivia's kind proffer. "I would like that very much."

* * *

The Outterridge manor was more enormous on the inside than the outside. Zecilys perceived with one wrong turn, she could get lost for an eternity in this maze of a house. As Olivia guided her along through the various rooms and pointed out some family portraits, one painting caught the turquoise-headed wyvern rider's attention. With widen eyes, Zecilys found herself being transfixed at a beautiful, detailed portrait of a handsome blonde man, a stunning dark-haired woman, and a small lad who was no doubt a younger version of Valter.

"Olivia?" called out Zecilys, pointing to the painting, "Is that…"

"…Valter's family portrait? Yes. That's his mother and his monster of a father." the said spy answered bitterly, venom dripping in her voice at the mere mention of Valter's father. "Thank the gods that man is dead. He caused my cousin and Aunt Éliane so much unbearable pain and misery that I hope he's becoming a crisp right now in seven fires of Hell."

As Olivia was talking, Zecilys took her time examining the portrait of Valter's family. Even with a closer inspection, Valter's father was still a dashing, dapper young man. With wavy blonde tresses that framed his strong, proud face like halo, he certainly looked one of the angels you would see in the many cathedrals. In contrast to his fair features, he possessed two pairs of coal-like eyes, reminding Zecilys of Valter's inky pools of fire yet, while Valter's dusky orbs were more inviting and contained some telltale sign of emotion, the ethiopian eyes of the angelic man seemed brutal and arctic, hidden malice and cruelty lurking from within.

Zecilys knew at once she was staring into the eyes of a demon, like the one who possessed her brother and butchered all her family members so long ago. Pushing all those gruesome images of her massacred family back into the recesses of her mind (she couldn't deal with their demise right this second), she shifted her scrutiny towards the beautiful young woman sitting next to the deceptively charming man's tall, erect form, a daffodil cradled in her delicate, pale hands. Whereas her husband was nefarious and barbaric, Valter's mother could irrefutably be described as amative, caring, and tender-hearted. Her sapphire star orbs sparkled with amiability and such love that for a moment, Zecilys felt that she could almost sense Éliane's solicitude surging through her entire body, banishing all her trepidations and worries for another day.

"How could a woman like Valter's mother entangle herself with his father?" she whispered, her gaze still glued to the broad smile on the woman's pale visage, her long navy blue and sable curls arranged adroitly and rather intricately around her head.

"Besides being one of the most attractive lords in Grado, Stojan was extremely wealthy, had polished, perfect manners, was cordial and sociable to everyone around him, and knew how to charm people into getting his way." Olivia began, sinking down into one of the velvet upholstered settees. Zecilys stood where she was; she wanted to study the painting of Valter and his parents more.

"Aunt Éliane was part of prosperous merchant family that was of good standing in royal court ever since my aunt's great-grandfather–my great-great-grandfather–wedded a duchess and became part of the aristocrat bloodline. My mother and Aunt Éliane were the prized jewels in court, snaring the attention of countless lords, counts, dukes, earls, princes, and so on forth. But when Stojan came along, Aunt Éliane was immediately smitten with him. During balls they would only dance each other, refusing to exchange partners with anyone else. He wormed his way into her heart and also her family's, portraying himself as this selfless, gregarious gentleman who would take wonderful care of her and dote upon her for all eternity." A bitter, disgusted chuckle bubbled from Olivia, a shadow passing over her face. "As you can see, he played our family like fools and once Stojan married Aunt Éliane, he revealed his true colors."

"Thank you, Olivia, for the narration of the prelude to my childhood."

The authoritative, rough timbre belonging to the notorious Moonstone echoed ominously in the drawing room, immobilizing the two females who would have jumped a few feet in the air had Valter been someone else far less intimidating. Olivia quickly recovered from her shock and hastily babbled some excuses out.

"Oh, Valter! I was just showing your friend around—" She faltered, probably from the listless, stolid expression on her cousin's visage, knowing instantly he had accomplished the grisly, bitter deed.

"I'll see to his body," she said softly, bowing her head to suppress the tears from breaking through. Unaware of Crandon's death, Zecilys could only stand by and watched with utter astonishment and wonder as Valter, a man who was known to have a soul blacker than sin and a farouche, beastly temperament, went over to the silently mourning pink-haired female and wrapped his arms around her, drawing Olivia into a consoling embrace.

"It's what he wanted, Olivia. None of us could change his mind."

Olivia sniffled, bobbing her head curtly, crystalline droplets already streaming down her fair features as tiny rivers of sorrow. "I-I know. I just w-wish it could have b-been different, that h-he still h-had a fighting c-chance."

Feeling like the worst sort of an interloper, Zecilys turned her head away from the grieving scene and quietly walked out of the room, leaving the two cousins to condole with each other.

* * *

While Olivia was away and making preparations for her twin brother's funeral, Zecilys found herself wandering around the hallways again, viciously rummaging through each and every chamber to find any more clues to Valter's past. How did he manage to cope during all those years living with a cruel, loveless father and a victimized mother? What sort of childhood was he forced to experience?

Suddenly, she changed course of direction, boldly strolling down the hall as if the Fates were guiding her personally through the maze, towards the answer to all her questions. All her walking eventually led her straight towards the man himself, in his quarters. But that's not what startled her. No, what gripped her very soul was the sight of ghastly lacerated scars, welts, and deep ridges littering all over Valter's bare, pale back. No mercy had been spared; every inch seemed to be covered with a gruesome mark.

Indignation flared inside of the wyvern rider–who would have done such a heinous act to him? Unable to stop herself, Zecilys passionately blurted out, "Who flogged you, Valter?"

Not even turning his head to acknowledge her, the Moonstone flatly answered, "My father. He always believed beatings were a flawless method in creating unwavering loyalty and obedience from his kin." The sharp edge in his tone warned Zecilys that she was treading upon a precarious subject. Yet Zecilys had to know, had to understand what sort of ghosts haunted him in the same way the past did to her.

"That's terrible," Zecilys whispered, approaching him slowly, not wanting to provoke him at all, "And your mother had live with that, watching him whip you around like you were some slave?"

"Zecilys," growled Valter, whirling his whole body around so he could fix his uncompromising, lethal glare at the turquoise-haired warrior, "that's **enough**. I have had enough with you poking around. Olivia was already kind enough in offering you the prologue."

"You can't conceal your past from everyone!" retorted Zecilys, feeling more frustrated than furious, "Have you told anyone outside your family this? No? I didn't think so." She narrowed her eyes fiercely at the wyvern knight, who clenched his jaw tightly and merely cut her a poisonous glower that could have killed a herd of oxen but he didn't stop her tangent.

"When I first opened to you about the massacre of my family, did you comprehend how much relief was taken off my chest? The feeling was like someone just ripped off huge boulder off my shoulders, I could breathe anew now that tragedy wasn't festering inside of me all the time. I believe that's what you need to do as well, Valter. You can tell me anything. I won't judge you."

After the last sentence died from her lips, Zecilys realized how true those words were. Through all the time she spent with Valter, she was slowly peeling off every layer of his armor and getting a peek at the man who lay under the beastly, belligerent exterior. Never again could she trust all those libels and fallacious rumors, they were nothing but vapid, meaningless phrases to her now.

Wordlessly, Valter averted his dusky eyes away from Zecilys's scrutiny, turning his body around so his beaten back faced her once more. The tendons in his muscular arms were tight and rigid, frustration clearly written all over his physique. Biting her bottom lip nervously, Zecilys took a different approach. Reaching out, she laid one hand on his poised arm while circling the other around his sinewy torso. Shutting her eyes, she rested her head against his slashed, torn backside and inwardly praying to every deity out there to grant her the strength she would need to get through to this stubborn, tormented man who hid his pain with an appetite for blood, war, and wenching.

From the soft, gentle gesture of Zecilys's touch, the Moonstone felt a rush of strange, unwonted emotions coursing through him like a liquid fire. Holding back an agitated growl, Valter wanted whirl around and push Zecilys aside, lash out and say he didn't her bloody sympathy, sentiments, or whatever else she was trying bestow to him. He didn't need to unload the burdens of his dark past with his monstrous father and poor mother; that was something he just doesn't do–at all.

Just when he was about open his mouth and order Zecilys to go back to the guest chambers Olivia had prepared specifically for her, Zecilys's very next words halted his plan dead in its tracks.

"Valter, I'm only asking this of you because I think it's what your mother would have wanted. …Right?"

Gritting his teeth together and closing his eyes, the said wyvern general realized the blaring truth in her statement. And as he rotated himself to face Zecilys once more, Valter also realized that deep down, it was what he covertly wanted too.

"All right, Zecilys," he sighed roughly, glancing down at her, his inky orbs boring straight into her wildcat amber ones, "I'll tell you everything."

* * *

Color Glossary:

Azuline- blue

Nigrine- black

Celeste- sky blue

Yes, folks, I am not dead–SURPRISE! I was around, just finishing up one of my fanfics that only had four more chapters or so to go before it ended. Hence I wanted to wrap that up so I could focus more on this story and my Underworld story, _**Ace in the Hole. **_

I know I promised you Valter's childhood with this chapter and do not despair, I shall deliver the rest in the next chapter. In there you'll find out what kind of hell Stojan, Valter's dad, put him and his mother through and what exactly happened in Outterridge manor that caused Valter to be exiled. And of course, we will have the epic desert scene where Ephraim and Valter square off and Zecilys must choose between. So…who would do you think she'll chose? A gregarious, peerless prince who is her childhood sweetheart or a wild, rather bloodthirsty general who really is a tormented soul?

And just as a random fact out there, the euthanasia part in this chapter was inspired from a scene in a CrossGen comic book called _Sojourn_. It's shame that company went bankrupt and that series was just hanging there…someone should got out and continue the tall.

'Till we meet again in the next chapter!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	19. Nineteen: Battle In the Desert

**Wild Justice**

Summary: AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Chapter Nineteen: The Battle In the Desert**

Just when I thought I was only going to receive one measly review for the last chapter due to that horrendously and excessively long update, you guys prove me wrong and grant me three! Huzzah and thank you!

**Sivynia****:** I know, I know–that's what betides when I'm finishing up a story that only has five or so chapters to go before being finished. But I'm back and this story is still up and rolling!

Well, this is the chapter where you'll find out who Zecilys will choose so rest assured, all those questions and gut feelings will be put to rest. And I don't mind the rant, I enjoyed reading it. God knows I have my fair share of them when I do the reviewing…

This time, I'm glad I was able to update faster than last time so you wouldn't have to wait as along. And don't worry about, I understand you just wanted to make sure. Thanks for the lovely review, it was great hearing from you again!

**batSkull22****:** Aw, really? Well, glad I could be of assistance! Hopefully, I'll pop up chapters faster now that I only have this story and another one to focus on.

Hehe, yes, I do think those two are cute together–why else would I have made Valter one of her potential suitors? XD Plus, I do love that wyvern general so, he is one awesome bad-ass. But your wait to see who gets Zecilys is over, this chapter reveals her decision!

**jordan114725****:** Thanks, I was looking forward for awhile to go into depth about all the atrocities and pain Valter had live through as a child. This time, yes, the updates will be quicker. Sorry about the last one. Thank you for reviewing!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: On the first day of Christmas no one gave to me, the ownership of the Sacred Stones and a partridge in a pear tree. Yep, that pretty much covers it. Only all the OCs belong to me, that's all. **

* * *

"_Valter, I'm only asking this of you because I think it's what your mother would have wanted. …Right?" _

_Gritting his teeth together and closing his eyes, the said wyvern general realized the blaring truth in her statement. And as he rotated himself to face Zecilys once more, Valter also realized that deep down, it was what he covertly wanted too._

"_All right, Zecilys," he sighed roughly, glancing down at her, his inky orbs boring straight into her wildcat amber ones, "I'll tell you everything."_

* * *

"Revenge is a confession of pain."-**Latin Proverbs**

* * *

"My father never loved my mother. All he cared about was carrying on his family line and getting as many sons as he could out her." Valter began grimly, sitting down, the mattress of his bed sinking from his weight. Zecilys nodded, uttering nothing for she was half-afraid anything she would say would break the spell and Valter would clamp up on her immediately.

"I wasn't their first child, they had two more before me but they both were stillborn. Both of them were girls–I doubt my father ever shed a tear over them." Valter paused, obviously recalling and mulling about the two sisters he never seen or got the chance to know.

_From everything I heard about him so far, I can't say that I'm at all shocked about his father's indifferent behavior. _

Zecilys inwardly thanked the gods for granting her such a loving, caring family who would anything to protect her. Unlike Valter's, her father would never strike her nor anyone else in the family, he would never dream of executing such an action.

"Of course, my mother did her best to appease him, to try to be the perfect wife and bear him plenty of sons. When I was born, they were both joyous and for awhile, I was the key that kept my father from unraveling. But of course, after I was a couple of years old, his happiness soon evaporated and he began desiring more sons once more. Every time my mother failed to birth him another child, his temper would be unleashed and he would beat her. In fact, he did that quite frequently whenever there was pressure, stress, or things just didn't simply go his way. Then again, from my perspective, he was simply deranged."

"Did your father get worse while you were growing up?" Zecilys inquired softly, cautiously directing her eyes at the Moonstone although his gaze remained downcast, fixated on the floor.

"Yes, he did. He had his moments, of course, when he behaved like the genteel, compassionate lord that the world believed but I, the servants, and my mother comprehended the monster underneath that charming veneer of his. The servants kept their mouths shut, they didn't dare to gossip or spread rumors of my odious father's psychotic acts for they feared they would receive the end of his whip. My mother wasn't the only he bludgeoned on a regular basis, the servitors were also fair game. But when I grew older, I finally understood the darkness in my parents' marriage and what really went on behind closed doors." Valter paused, as if a particular memory was resurfacing inside his head and he delving into the recollection all over again.

"_**Father, what's going on?" demanded a terrified young Valter, dusky eyes ablaze with shock as he beheld his father standing over his mother, her beautiful, porcelain visage covered in bruises. "By the gods, what have you done to Mother?!"**_

"_**This does not concern you, Valter," spat Stojan coldly, his hand still clenched into a tight, deadly fist, "Leave–**_now_**."**_

"_**Valter," croaked out the said youth's mother, "Please… Listen to your father. I'll be all right."**_

"_**All right?" Valter's aghast, repulsed voice was an octave higher now. "Mother, you're completely covered in bruises! How long has he been clobbering you like this?" He cut a fulminating glare at his father, contempt rising in his chest for the first time in his. His father returned the glower.**_

"_**Boy, I will not repeat myself. Get. Out. Of. Here. NOW." Stojan's deadly, venomous words could have poisoned a whole herd of oxen. His glacial, fathomless eyes pinned Valter down, sparking with such ire and wrath that in that fleeting moment, the budding young wyvern rider feared for his very life. He now was absolutely affrighted of his father.**_

_**But he would not forsake his dear mother to his father's merciless, brutal hands, no matter what betided to him later. **_

_**Standing his ground, he tilted his chin upward in a rebellious, stubborn manner and stood straight, a shadow of the proud, fearsome warrior he would one day become. **_

"_**No. I refuse to leave." **_

_**Éliane gasped, fathoming the dire consequences if her husband was not obeyed. Vainly she tried to persuade her son to think otherwise.**_

"_**Valter, my son, please go! I'll be fine, I can always have a healer—"**_

_**Her plead was cut short when Stojan's hand came flying out of nowhere and collided viciously against her cheek. A sickening sonance echoed all around the room, followed by a detrimental half-whimper, half-cry by the Lady Éliane. She tumbled backwards, hitting the wall in the process ere falling to the floor. Stojan loomed over her, arm outstretched as if he was prepared to wallop her again. **_

_**All of this was too much for the nine-year-old Valter. With a savage scream, he launched himself at his own father, pummeling the heartless aristocrat's back with his small fists while yelling over and over again to leave his mother alone. "Leave her be, Father! She's done no wrong! Stop hitting Mother!" **_

_**Tears prickling her eyes, Éliane sobbed and pleaded for Valter to stop, to run straight to his room for she knew how violent her husband could be when he wasn't obeyed. She was just about to stand up and attempt to separate Valter and his father when Stojan whirled around and crashed his fist directly into the dark-haired youth's unsuspecting countenance. Bursts of fiery agony spread across his cheek and he clutched the region tenderly, his legs rocking back from the extreme force.**_

"_**Valter!" cried out his mother, who, for a moment, forgot her fear towards her abusive husband, and rushed to her son's side, gently pulling him towards her bosom. "How could you lay a hand on our son, Stojan?!"**_

"_**What was that?" snapped Stojan, picking his wife up by the roots of her shimmering ebony and navy blue hair, "Are you rebelling against me, shrew?" Éliane shook her head wordlessly, painful tears brimming in the corner of her ears. She still held Valter tightly in her arms Valter, no amount of force would tear the battered genteel lady from her child. **_

"_**Stojan…" she choked out feebly, "Spare our son…please. He's done nothing wrong." **_

"_**God's wounds he hasn't!" Stojan snapped, releasing his grip on her raven locks, "That was a warning, Valter. Next time you disobey me like that again I'm give you good whipping."**_

"That's horrible."

Valter didn't even realize he had recounted the memory of his first beating from his father out loud until Zecilys's voice broke through his trance. He jerked up, finding himself staring into the amber gaze of an aghast, indignant, and deeply sympathetic woman.

"All you wanted was to protect your mother…and he lashed you out for that," she whispered fiercely, choler coloring her gilt orbs, "Was that how the abuse started for you?"

The Moonstone nodded stiffly, his dusky eyes hard and unreadable. "As time went on, my father felt that I too needed to be beaten into submission and would flog me often." A dry, bitter smile faintly graced his pale features. "To this day I can still recall what the first item he whipped me with."

The instrument was a birch rod and even though up close the device simply looked like a bundle of birth branches twisted together, the pain he felt when the wood was slammed against his exposed back was excruciating enough to have him praying to the gods over and over again to stop the thrashing. At age nine he truly thought he was going to die while his father gave him fifteen lashes for misbehaving and "discipline".

"To him, walloping me around was killing two birds with one stone. He was hurting both me and my mother. Me, physically; my mother, emotionally. She always tried to her hardest to give him another son so he could finally be content and leave me alone."

"But she never could," Zecilys finished softly, sorrow interlaced within her words, "Couldn't she, Valter?" He nodded slowly, reminiscing all his mother's tears and sobs whenever there was a miscarriage or one of his brothers or sisters didn't survive past infanthood. The more "failures" (as his father deemed them) they were, the more abusive, volatile, and cold Stojan had become.

"My mother was a compassionate, gracious soul. She tried to so hard to please my father and all my monster of a father did was to throw her love back in her face while viciously stomping on her heart back and forth. Eventually he left her bed altogether when the doctors informed that her body was weakening and she couldn't handle another pregnancy. It didn't take him long enough to find a willing mistress to keep his lusts sated."

Rage clawed at Zecilys's throat and she thought she would simply explode if another word fell from Valter's lips. How could someone like Valter's father treat his own family like trash, like they meant nothing to him? The wyvern rider truly sympathized with Valter's mother's situation, she must have been so devastated when she heard of the new woman in her husband's arms. She wanted to ask Valter so much but all she could manage to say was: "What happened to you and your mother after that?"

"When I was old enough, I ran off and joined Grado's army. I quickly excelled in all my lessons and was given the rank general and the title of 'the Moonstone' by Emperor Vigarde himself. Meanwhile, my mother took refuge in my aunt's–Olivia's mother–house, writing letters to me to see how I was faring." He faltered, knowing what would come next. The death of his mother had been the worst day of his life and even speaking about that horrid day still tore at his heart. The pain was in tantamount to a thousand daggers slashing at him brutally, both body and soul.

"Did something betide?" spoke up Zecilys, sensing the wyvern knight's reluctance to continue. "Valter…you don't have to tell me—"

"My mother was going to leave my father."

That simple, earth-shattering sentence silenced Zecilys immediately and she gaped at Valter with wide, astonished eyes.

"She…was? How did you know?"

Valter sighed heavily, appearing like he was reliving a nightmare from his past. "She told me so in the last letter that she sent me. My aunt finally had convinced her to leave my father and helped her muster enough courage to make the preparations. I told her I supported her decision and would return back home to help her pack all her effects. But when I got there…I was too late."

"Your father found out," Zecilys whispered, closing her eyes to block out all the cruel ordeals Valter's nefarious father must have put her through.

"He was there when she returned and belted her practically to death right after raping her."

Zecilys's eyes flew open violently at the last part. In that moment, she finally understood why even in the beginning of their first meeting, that Valter would never rape her. Not only did he genuinely despise the act, it was the same crime his father committed against his mother.

And Zecilys knew Valter didn't want to become his father.

"She was still breathing when I arrived," resumed the Moonstone, "and grant me a few finally words before she expired. I didn't even have time to assure her I would find a healer to save her. There was not time for her except to say goodbye." _And to give me her silver necklace as a parting gift._

And the turquoise-haired rider soon discovered that was only the beginning of all the darkness that lurked in Valter's life. Stojan, his father, was beyond furious when he found out that his sister-in-law was the one who persuaded his wife to leave him for good. To punish her, he had gathered all his men and launched a covert siege against the Outterridge household. A plethora of the men were slaughtered while the women and young girls were raped from left to right. Once more, Valter was too late to save the rest of his family from his flagitious father and the Turdore House. He had been burying his deceased mother during the onslaught and came to the ruined, traumatized Outterridge House to deliver the news of his mother's passing. It was there he found out his aunt had been killed, Olivia deflowered, and Crandon blind because one of the Turdores purposely demolished his eyesight with a Light spell. Countless of other lives had been either destroyed or completely changed forever.

On that day, Valter vowed that was the last time his father and his deplorable family would get away with their crimes.

"Why didn't you go to your Emperor or the law to bring them to justice?" Zecilys interrupted, "I mean, you were one of the Emperor's generals. No doubt he would have listened to you."

A bitter, harsh laugh erupted from the dark-haired, alabaster man, a cruel mockery of regalement etched on his sculpted visage. "Aye, he might have but he would listen to the Turdore House more. Do you know how much power and influence they hold over Grado?" Zecilys was about to shake her head to say 'no' but Valter didn't even give her chance to respond.

"They possess more prestige and strength than most kings or other royals in Magvel. The commoners love them because of their charity work, how they fight ferociously for the peasants' rights. To the poor ilk, the Turdores are their saviors and won't tolerate anyone from spoiling their 'good' name. But don't those kind deeds fool you, my father's house only pays attention to the poor because they understand how the most of the population is made up with the everyday man and to have them on their side grants them much power over the masses. And if that wasn't enough, they also several tight relationships with most of Grado's popular printing presses thus the Turdores had almost total control of all the newspapers."

"So even if you and the Outterridge family exposed your father's house's heinous crimes, no one would believe you?" Zecilys could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was Valter's father _that _powerful?

The wyvern general nodded staidly. "That and many of them would turn against the Outterridge House. The aristocratic part of the Outterridge family has done some rather unfavorable acts in the past, almost a century or so ago. And there are some people who are perfectly fine in letting the descendents pay for the sins of their ancestors. So, my mother's kin would be grossly outnumbered."

"So you took the matter into your own hands." Zecilys stated automatically, realizing exactly where Valter was heading. And she understood his rationale for turning into a vigilante, she would have take the same action if she was in his shoes. "So…did all of the surviving members of the Outterridge clan band together under your leadership?"

The Moonstone nodded once more, and resumed the tale. He told the young wyvern rider they had planned to exact their revenge and justice against those who were partook in the destruction of the Outterridge House. They wanted to have no innocents involved in the onset. Valter had managed to see his Grandma Agatha privately and she agreed to assist him and his cause. Ironically, when the Outterridge party arrived to the Turdore estate, they came across an abundance of abused, silently rebellious servants who were only too willing to help the Outterridges slip into the manor undetected. Beforehand, Grandma Agatha had kept all the innocent ones away and preoccupied while using her sly wits to confine all the murdering Turdores in a one room so it would be easier for them to picked off, one by one. Much to the surprise of Valter and his family, many of the servitors and wives joined them in the assailment, wanting the nightmare to end for good. Valter soon discovered his mother wasn't the only woman beaten, there were similar cases amidst the other wives and children of Turdore. Even some of the sons and daughters charged into the fray and turn against their own fathers, tired of all the abuse and perdition they were subjected to. Olivia even teamed up with one young female against her stepfather, who had sexually exploited and molested her since she was twelve. The mistreated, battered, and abused had enough of their torment. They decided it was time to cease the agony.

Today.

However, in the middle of the combat, Valter had suddenly noticed that his father and many other Turdore nobles were not in the room–they had fled to safety once they heard the din of battle. But all the malefactors trapped in the meeting chambers had been slain, no one was spared.

Unfortunately, Valter's father and surviving participates of the Outterridge siege quickly told the news to Emperor Vigarde and all their allies, exaggerating their case and vilifying the Outterridge House until most of the Grado citizens believe they were a clan of cold-blooded, heartless cutthroats. Valter received some of the worst libels ever. Some accused him of being a demon since he had once been partly possessed by the one sealed in Duessel's lance and he had exhibited many of the djinn's personality traits.

"_**Why, in his lust for blood, he must have schemed to shed the blood of his kinsmen to fill the empty void in him, where he once had a soul. He and the Outterridge family are a group of bloodthirsty, mad dogs!" **_

Zecilys was nearly reeling with all this stunning information, bafflement and horror flashing simultaneously on her sun-kissed features. "What?! How did your mother's family survive then? What was their sentence?"

Valter's grim ghost of a smile was almost terrifying. "They never had a sentence. I took the fall for them. Since they were ready to accept the theory that I was a merciless demon of war, I become that very person. I presented myself as a ruthless, cruel, vicious warrior who reveled in death and the blood of my victims, making the Outterridge House to be my hoodwinked, misguided followers who were confused and lost.

"My lie was an absolute success. Everyone who I once knew believed me, and that included the Emperor. I thought he would be the one to see through my ploy but…I suppose I can be very persuasive." The grave, black smirk suddenly became bitter, morose even, as if he was disappointed in the monarch of Grado for not comprehending him better. "So as a punishment, I was stripped of my rank as General Moonstone and exiled to a remote, practically barren land with a modicum of human population. I missed being hanged just by the skin of my teeth.

"So now you know, Zecilys," concluded Valter, bringing his tale to an end, "Now you know who I am and why I do the things I do. Has your curiosity been sated?" He didn't mean to come off so curt but retelling the past had reopened a few raw wounds, followed by having salt rubbed on them. Unwittingly, Zecilys continued to stare at him with wondrous awe and fascination.

"You did all that…you sacrificed your position, your career, your whole life, for your kin…" She had been right. There definitely was more to Valter the Moonstone that what meets the eye.

Valter shrugged, as if his sacrifice was no big deal. "Of course. I couldn't have thrown Olivia, Crandon, and the rest of my relatives to the wolves. They're my family." He paused briefly, turning his head away so Zecilys couldn't see his face when he spoke again.

"_After all, they're all I have left."_

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

Olivia's obviously bored voice wafted over the wind and Valter resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. That had been the umpteenth time his cousin had inquired about their progress and he _knew _she was only repeating the question so much just to get a rise out of him. She always enjoyed playing mind games with him when she grew older and became a rogue.

"For the last time, Olivia, _no. _We still have several leagues to go," he answered exasperatedly; immensely glad he let Olivia ride with Zecilys. Then again, his mischievous cousin could have very well persuaded Zecilys into some devious plan of hers that consist of agitating him to the very ends of Magvel.

_By the gods, please spare me from _that.

"So who are we meeting up when we arrive at the Jehanna desert?" piped up Olivia as Zecilys flew her wyvern, Eroniz, next to Valter and Slivegio. "You mentioned we would be coming across two of your peers, Valter."

"Correct. They are General Selena Fluorspar and General Caellach Tiger Eye." Valter replied swiftly, relieved that Olivia had stopped antagonizing him for a moment. _Hopefully, Selena hasn't killed Caellach by now when we arrive to our campout. I wouldn't mourn the loss but we're going to need all the manpower we have for the impending battle against the surviving Jehannas and the twins. _

A flicker of recognition flashed in Zecilys's golden eyes, she recollected those two generals before. She got along just splendidly with Selena whereas with the other general, Caellach…well, she wouldn't be at all stunned if he wanted to exact his revenge once he laid eyes on her again. Yet, perhaps, since Valter would be around her, Caellach would think twice.

_I hope…_

"Hey, Valter?" came Olivia's voice again, dashing away all of Zecilys's grim musings, "Valter!"

"What?" groused the said wyvern general.

"Are we there yet?"

* * *

The harsh, blistering desert wind howled at Ephraim, blasting viciously against his face, eyes, neck, and any other unprotected part of him. Behind him, his ragtag troupe trudged along, holding their arm or any article of clothing to shield their eyes from the dry, exacerbating gale.

Forde and Duessel were at his side, walking their steeds as they waddled through the torrid, scalding sand. Knoll and Amelia were leaning on each other, making sure the other didn't stumble and fall face first into the scorching ground. Joshua and Natasha were doing the same yet it looked like Joshua was allowing more comfort to fall upon Natasha than himself. Cormag and Tana were flying low to stay clear of any concealed archers and scanning the horizon for any signs of the enemy or ally. Both aviators had each other's back; they were consistently alert and prepared for anything unexpected.

"We should reach your sister tomorrow, Prince Ephraim," Forde stated hoarsely, his throat raw and scratchy from the torrid atmosphere surrounding him and the lack of moisture in his mouth. Everyone had to conserve their supply of water, they had to drink sparingly. There was no telling whether or not they would stumble across an oasis or a water well nearby.

"That's good, Forde. Every second counts and I have to aid Eirika as quickly as possible," rasped out the Renais lord, nodding his head weakly as he shuffled against the mounds of coarse, beige grains.

"When the sun sets, we should rest and take camp," advised Duessel, perspiration gleaming off his brow most brilliantly, "To wander in the desert when it's dark is treacherous, fatal even. We would be wise to rest and rejuvenate our strength then."

"Understood, Duessel. Grado probably will be doing the same so we won't have worry about any late-night ambushes from them," Ephraim answered while hoping that would be true for them. His party was so exhausted, they could barely stand, let alone battle. Ephraim hoped his sister, Seth, and Innes were having better luck than he was.

_Once I meet up with them and our forces combine, that should be enough to drive Grado back. And hopefully, I'll have my chance in uncovering Zecilys's whereabouts. Maybe Valter will be in this impending assailment as well. _

The endless fire of ire and despisal he contained for Valter was rekindled and newfound energy seemed to have seeped into him. By finding the Moonstone, he would find Zecilys as well, he was dead certain about that. And when he does, he would skewer Valter on his lance and make him wish he was never born. Because no one ever touches Zecilys and walks away unscathed–**no one**!

The desert wind whipped all around him once more and as the rough zephyr clawed and bit at him, he ignored all the pain by closing his eyes and conjuring up the image of Zecilys, from her golden eyes, turquoise hair, to the lovely smile she always wore when joy struck her.

When he sees her again, he will wrap him arms around her, press his face against hers, and tell her everything will be all right, he's here and he'll protect her. He'll love her, make her his wife, and no other man like Valter the Moonstone would hurt Zecilys _ever _again.

* * *

At long last, they had arrived at the Grado campsite in the parlous Jehanna desert and were greeted by none other by Selena Fluorspar and Caellach Tiger Eye themselves. Of course, there had been some mix of puzzlement once they glimpsed Valter's cousin and Zecilys, but the sight of Zecilys caused a more noticeable reaction.

"Alcyone. How good it is to see you again." Selena remarked simply, shaking the sheepish wyvern rider's hand after she dismounted from Eroniz. Both Valter and Olivia raised their eyebrows, wondering about how the two women met and why was Selena addressing Zecilys by a different name. Caellach was too busy scowling at Zecilys.

"Actually, my name is Zecilys," Zecilys confessed, loathing to have deceived this genial mage knight, "I was using a false name to protect myself. Sorry about that."

Selena merely smiled. "Please, don't apologize. You have your reasons and I will not pry into them." She then snapped her head at Caellach, instantly catching the dirty look in his face. "Caellach! Try to be civil." The authoritative, icy tone in her voice broke no argument.

Like child being chided by his mother, the unsavory expression immediately vanished from Caellach's countenance and was replaced with a more neutral one. "Don't worry, I will be," he replied, offering Selena a jaunty, reassuring grin, "This gel and I just…got off in the wrong foot when we first encountered each other."

Valter held back a snicker yet uttered nothing. He merely watched with intrigued eyes as Zecilys strolled over to the Tiger Eye and thrust her hand up, proffering a truce. Caellach arched one incredulous brow, almost suspicious of her good intentions. Slowly, he clasped his hand over hers, shaking it firmly.

"All right, lass," grumbled Caellach, "you win. Just don't knee me again or else you'll regret it." Zecilys cocked a regaled but understanding smile at his tough words.

"Just as long you don't incite me in the first place."

This time, it was Caellach's turn to smirk. "Aye. Touché, Zecilys."

* * *

The next day descended upon the endless desert sky more rapidly than either side expected. While Grado troops were being rallied together by either Valter, Selena, or Caellach, Ephraim and his band were struggling onward to regroup with Eirika and her small troupe of eager fighters with the wind hurtling clumps of sand all around them. Together, Lady Luck and Dame Fortune graced them with their presence for Ephraim finally reunited with his twin sister once the battle had begun and they were force to engage the Gradans. The Renais prince's grim spirits were lifted at the sight of his beloved sister safe and sound. She was greatly distressed and perturbed but otherwise, all in one piece. After a few brief words with Prince Innes, Ephraim felt his strength once more buoyed and drove onward, battling the enemy with every stroke and flick of his lance. He would see Zecilys soon and no one, not even an army of thousand men, shall stand in his way.

Meanwhile, in the Grado camp, Olivia and Zecilys were helping Selena tend the wounded. The roseate-haired rogue would sometimes slip off to go pilfer a few items from their adversaries and return with many vulneraries, elixirs, and other helpful tools. Her last trip took longer than most and when she returned, there was a cut bleeding on her cheek along with a large, thick slash trekking across her left arm.

"Sorry for the delay. Right after I snitched these vulneraries from a cleric and this dull-looking paladin, I was assaulted by a cavalier. Too bad for him that his crimson armor caught my eye really fast or else I might have been buzzer fodder. I managed to elude him before he could inflict too much damage on me." Olivia set the spoils of victory into her pile of looted objects, unscrewing one vulnerary ere quaffing the liquid down immediately. The wounds adorning her body sizzled and hissed, sewing themselves up together as the magical potion replenished Olivia's energy and renewed her convalescing capacity.

"But," the impish rogue added after licking the remnants of the vulnerary from her lips, "that doesn't mean he got off easily. I made sure that he'll be nursing a particularly nasty knife injury to the leg. He won't be walking properly for weeks if the wound isn't taken care of soon."

"What did this knight look like?" Zecilys questioned evasively, a shadow of dread gnawing at her heart. Apprehension had already settled over her from the moment Olivia mentioned she had been attacked by a cavalier who wore cinnabar armor.

Valter's cousin shrugged her shoulders, a pysmatic expression on her besmirched countenance. "How should I know? I was mostly pay attention to his sword and being certain that the blade didn't stab me." After tossing the vulnerary aside, an epiphany instantly dawned over her. "Wait! I think he had a pony-tail…and dirty-blonde hair. Why do you ask?" Olivia cocked her head curiously at Zecilys and even Selena paused right after hurtling Thunder on a few opposing units to glance back at the troubled wyvern rider.

"Do you know him, Zecilys?" Selena inquired softly but firmly, celeste eyes discerning her analytically. Slowly, she nodded her head, anguish etched on her sun-kissed features.

"Yes, I do. He's a good friend of Ephraim. I—" Faltering, Zecilys dropped the damp, filthy washcloth, racing out of the site and to where Eroniz laid. Her mind was a swirling, chaotic maelstrom of thoughts and fears. No one told her that Ephraim would be here, she just assumed they would be facing Jehanna soldiers and other armies against Grado. She didn't want to further Grado's advances and yet, Zecilys also didn't want to betray the people here, the warriors she grew to love, admire, and respect. She couldn't leave them to die but neither could she leave Ephraim, her childhood sweetheart, to rot in the scorching, sandy dunes while vultures pick at his bones.

_Ephraim… If he's here and fighting the Grado Imperial Army that means he'll encounter…Valter._

This sudden realization sent Zecilys's stomach churning and doing several flips as she gathered Eroniz's reigns, mounting the olive wyvern. If the two men should ever meet in the blazes of battle, all Hell would break loose. Ephraim would only think of her and her well-being hence he would fight to kill. Valter would assail back, refusing to be defeated. They didn't fathom that she loved them both and to witness either one of them injured or dead would be a crushing, devastating blow to her heart. She did not want either one of them dying for her, she had enough people precious to her that had perished and were now buried in the hard, cold earth. If she could feasibly save them both, she shall, even at the cost of her life.

"Let's ride, Eroniz!" she whispered, grasping her steel lance tightly, "We have to find Valter and Ephraim before they meet each other!"

* * *

There he was.

Perched on his two-legged, ultramarine blue wyvern, Valter the Moonstone looked every bit as the formidable, intimidating general Ephraim had heard about. Just by watching him slaughter everyone around him without batting an eyelash was enough for the Renais prince to confirm his belief of the depravity of this beast, this monster standing right before him.

"Innes!" he called, ensnaring the regal bowman's attention, "Come here! I have a plan to take down one of Grado's generals."

"That one?" Innes said crisply, pointing his finger squarely at Valter, who yanked his spear right out of a Jehanna soldier's chest. Ephraim nodded and for the first since the reuniting of the twins' bands, Innes smiled.

"Good. I'll enjoy killing that cur, if that's what you have in mind, Ephraim."

"I will engage him first and weaken him greatly so his guard will be down to his surroundings. While I'm keeping him preoccupied, you and Neimi knock your arrows and when there's an opening, fire. Valter won't survive two fatal shots."

"Even if he it isn't human," Innes remarked matter-of-factly, nodding with approval at Ephraim's scheme. "Very well. I'll go gather Neimi and we shall secure our positions. Be careful, Ephraim. That blackguard wasn't named a general for nothing."

"I know," the Renais lordling replied simply, anxiety for the pending onset fluttering inside of him, "But this is a fight I cannot lose."

Understanding his rival's resolve, Innes nodded once more and went off to find Neimi while Ephraim furiously made his way towards Valter, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he neared closer and closer to the wyvern general. Once he was hearing range, he opened up his mouth and yelled out:

"VALTER THE MOONSTONE!"

A hush fell upon the battlefield and the said wyvern knight whirled his head to face the person who just bellowed out his name. "Yes?" he answered sharply, resting his hard, imposing charcoal eyes on Ephraim. A sinister, cruel smile twisted itself on his lips, regalement flashing across his alabaster visage.

"So we meet at last, Prince Ephraim," he intoned, brandishing his spear and leveling the deadly weapon straight at the regal fighter. "I had no idea you were seeking me out."

"Listen here, you pile of trash!" spat Ephraim, advancing slowly but still keeping his distance from Valter and his wyvern, "I know what you did to Zecilys, monster, and I'm here to make you pay for that."

The Moonstone's black smile became a poisonous, almost dark sneer as his mount roared viciously at the resolute, raging prince. "Is that so? Trying to play the role of a chivalrous knight coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress? How sweet." He swung at Ephraim's head and the prince stumbled back, nearly losing his footing in the process. Valter thrust again, his attack more aggressive and smooth than it was before. Ephraim parried his lance but grit his teeth from the painful force from Valter's herculean vim.

As the two men locked horns with each other, Valter singed the Renais prince with a menacing glower, his onyx eyes burning with many hidden, potent emotions. "Has it ever occurred to you, princeling, that, perhaps, Zecilys _doesn't_ wish to be saved?"

"Liar! How dare you suggest such blasphemy! " hissed Ephraim, aiming the tip of his lance at Slivegio and the creature cried out at the point pierced its scales. Snarling, Valter swiftly kicked Ephraim in the head, sending the young man rolling in the sand. Prior to he could even impale the aquamarine-haired noble to the ground, Ephraim quickly collected his bearings and dodged Valter's assault, panting and gasping for breath as he retreated away from Valter's striking range.

The two men faced each other, utter contempt gleaming brilliantly in their eyes. Lances raised, they struck again.

* * *

Sensing the desperation of his mistress, Eroniz had been flapping his wings non-stop, scanning the desert relentlessly in high hopes of spotting a young man with vivid aqua tresses and long-haired rider perched on a fearsome, two-legged wyvern. On in the distance, he saw such a sight and gave out a roar to inform Zecilys that he had spotted them. Releasing a sigh of relief, Zecilys then commanded Eroniz to fly lower and increase their speed so they could reach Ephraim and Valter in time before either one of them became severely wounded.

As they flew towards the two combating men, Zecilys mulled over what her course of action. How was she going halt a fight between two people she loved so dearly? And more crucially, she knew deep down sooner or later, she had to make a choice, a decision of who she would entrust her heart to, who was the one she loved more. She had to decide soon. This day could very well be the day that she had to pick either Ephraim or Valter.

Tightening her grasp on Eroniz's reigns, Zecilys and her faithful mount soared into the air, spiraling down at the deadly assailment between Valter and Ephraim. She tried to scream at them, hollering for them to stop yet they were too far away to hear any single word that fell from her lips. Hissing with frustration at her failed attempt, Zecilys kicked Eroniz's sides, urging him to quicken his gait. She must get closer to them if she wanted to be heard before more blood was shed!

That's when she beheld the scene.

Two archers, positioned near Ephraim and Valter, were knocking their arrows. The male was instructing the female and giving her specific directions in where to fire her bow. The more Zecilys saw all this unfold before her very eyes as Eroniz loomed closer to towards the fray, the quicker she realized all this had been planned, that the archers were ordered to shot Valter.

If she didn't make it to the onslaught in time, he would **die**.

"Just a little more, Eroniz," she whispered encouragingly to him, lifting herself slightly out of her saddle in preparation. She knew what she had to do, there were no questions about it. Even though the act was crazy, reckless, and potentially mortal, Zecilys had no regrets. This was her choice and this was what she desired.

Unaware of Zecilys's impending arrival, Ephraim once more rolled away from Valter's spear, safe from harm. He jerked his head over to Innes and Neimi and nodded at the pair of archers to fire away. There was now an opening and Valter was ripe for the picking.

To Zecilys, everything was suddenly moving so slow, as if they were all underwater. The two archers drew their arms back to their mouths, eyes following the wyvern knight and Slivegio as he advanced further to Ephraim, who was busy keeping him in the bowmen's range while eluding Valter's jabs and assailments. Just as Ephraim inclined his head over to the archers, Zecilys watched them release the arrows. Panic clawing at her heart, Zecilys felt tears sting her eyes as she leapt out of her saddle, sailing straight for Valter. She opened her mouth to scream out a warning and even though her words were partly muffled by the howling desert wind, her message was carried over to the two battling men.

"VALTER! LOOK OUT!"

He snapped his whole self around, nigrine eyes widening in astonishment as he witnessed a mid-air Zecilys hurling towards him. Yet his shock soon turned into supreme horror and Zecilys didn't understand why until two stabbing, agonizing pains flared wildly against her backside and a raucous, chilling cry of detriment broke free from her lips, echoing all across the abruptly silent sandy, barren land.

However, what Zecilys did understand was when Valter cradled her bleeding frame in his arms, bafflement and trepidation swirling in those inky orbs of his, that she had formed her final decision.

He was the one.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Cinnabar- red; scarlet

Celeste- blue

Nigrine- black

Yes, I have established another one of those nefarious, irksome cliffhangers. Feels quite refreshing for thy soul, eh?

This chapter took longer than I wanted mainly because I was getting side-tracked for various reasons; I originally planned to present this chapter by New Year's Day but that didn't work out so well so I opt to finish this chapter during my three-day weekend after finals. At least I passed that goal…

So, I finally got to delve into Valter's tragic past and why he's so attached to his mother and also state who Zecilys will end up with in the end–and all in one chapter! The implication was rather ambiguous yet I hope you all realized that she chose Valter over Ephraim. For all those who wanted Zecilys to go with Ephraim…please don't hate me. When I came up with the Valter/Zecilys/Ephraim pairing, from the start it was intended to eventually be Valter/Zecilys. And if you think the drama and all suspense ends here, there's more to come. I have a few more plot twists coming up that may or may not provoke you to rage at me. We'll see.

Till we meet again in the next update!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	20. Twenty: Confessions & a Reunion

**Wild Justice**

**Summary:** AU: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Chapter Twenty: ****Confessions and A Long-Awaited Reunion**

**Sivynia****: **Wow, thanks–I really appreciate the fact that you'll still continue reading this story even though Zecilys didn't land with Ephraim. My hats off to you, my friend. Plenty of other people would simply have kissed this fanfic by now.

**batSkull22****: **What can I say? I love my cliffhangers. Hahaha, and you're welcome. I must say I was really relieved to see some people rooting for Valter. At first, it seemed that everyone just wanted Ephraim and Zecilys to be together.

And thank you, I just love Valter. He's one of my favorite characters to write about hence he'll always be in my TSS fics. As for more action scenes, regrettably none will be in here but I can guaranty you that the next chapter will—it'll be focused mostly around a huge, epic battle. Hope you like that!

**Lady Fishcakes: **Life can surprise you in many ways. And thanks, glad to hear that you're enjoying this story so far.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Sorry, I have nothing clever to say. At all. Except for: WHOO-HOO, SPRING BREAK IS HERE! SHEER FREEDOM AND MADNESS IS ON ITS MERRY WAY! **

**Oh, and I own nothing of TSS save for my OCs. **

* * *

"_VALTER! LOOK OUT!" _

_He snapped his whole self around, nigrine eyes widening in astonishment as he witnessed a mid-air Zecilys hurling towards him. Yet his shock soon turned into supreme horror and Zecilys didn't understand why until two stabbing, agonizing pains flared wildly against her backside and a raucous, chilling cry of detriment broke free from her lips, echoing all across the abruptly silent sandy, barren land._

_However, what Zecilys did understand was when Valter cradled her bleeding frame in his arms, bafflement and trepidation swirling in those inky orbs of his, that she had formed her final decision. _

_He was the one. _

* * *

"Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out."**-Francis Bacon**

* * *

The din of combat reverberated in his ears but Valter paid the deafening clamor no mind. He only had eyes for the bleeding, gasping female in his arms, struggling to maintain consciousness. Even Ephraim halted his actions and remained rooted on the spot, eyes widen with shock and horror. His land fell limply to his side as he watched the wyvern knight try to comfort Zecilys.

"Zecilys… Why on earth would you commit such a foolish, reckless deed?" Valter half-hissed, half-choked out, genuine pain and anguish flicking across his pale, rugged countenance and nigrine orbs.

Zecilys attempted to smile at Valter but she barely had enough strength to drag a feeble one on her face. "Isn't it obvious? We always do insane things for the people we—" Her words were stopped short when she hacked up more blood, her body trembling and convulsing with supreme agony. The Moonstone pressed a finger to her lips, silencing anything else she had to utter.

"Don't talk, Zecilys. I can get you to Selena in record timing. Just hold on for a little longer." Tucking Zecilys close to his chest, he slowly reached out and clutched the reins, gripping both the straps and his lance firmly with one hand. Just when he was about to command Slivegio to fly, Prince Ephraim snapped out of his stunned trance and rushed towards the two wyvern riders, lance protruding outward at a deadly angle.

"Oh no, you don't!" hissed the lordling, "I won't have you take Zecilys from me again! I have some perfectly good clerics that can save her."

Snarling, Valter flourished his spear and whacked Ephraim with its side, sending the Renais prince rolling across the desert sand. "And _I _have the best healer who can easily trump your novice clerics," he sneered at the sprawled fighter, who was struggling to collect his bearings, "The more we argue over this matter, the less time Zecilys has to live. If you at all care for her well-being, you **will** let me pass."

With that said, Valter urged Slivegio to the skies and at once, the two-legged wyvern launched himself into the sky, followed by Eroniz. As the two mounts grew smaller and smaller, Ephraim cast his lance aside in ire and punched the sand, letting loose a frustrated, enraged holler. It wasn't that he just lost another opportunity to rescue Zecilys; it was also because much to his distaste, Valter the Moonstone was right. Had he prevented the Grado general from going to their best healer and instigated another onslaught, Zecilys's chance to survive from the arrow attack would dwindle away rapidly. And even though he despised the wyvern knight with every fiber of his being, Ephraim just wanted Zecilys to survive the ordeal and recover, even in the care of his enemy.

_All I have to do is track Valter down once the battle is over. _

As if by magic, fresh strength and alacrity pumped into his veins at this new plan. Ephraim retrieved his lance and engaged the remaining soldiers of Grado once more, showing no mercy as he slashed, impaled, and struck with all his might. The life of his beloved was on the line now and if she died, there would be Hell to pay.

* * *

Selena wasted no time when Valter returned to her carrying a bleeding, dying Zecilys in his arms. She quickly brought him to a spare tent and instructed him to gently lower the turquoise-haired wyvern rider onto the fresh, sterilized cot. Once that was done, Selena cast off Zecilys's armor and tore open her shirt, promptly cleaning away all the blood with a wet rag. Olivia also entered the pavilion to help bring in more damp washcloths and delivered any other medical equipment that the mage knight would need. After Selena had cleaned up most of the blood, she reached for her Mend staff. Beautiful, dulcet words poured out of her lips, the mystical chant relaxing Valter's ears from all the ruckus of combat and death rattles. A humming sound resonated from the Mend staff as it glowed brilliantly and a shimmering, barely visible cyaneous luminance traveled from the crystal orb on the Mend staff to Zecilys. The light, electric blue glimmer circled all around the unconscious female while erasing the existence of the two arrow wounds. A sizzling sonance of flesh being knit back together filled the air and Valter breathed again, watching the injuries fade away before his very eyes.

"Is she going to be all right?" he inquired softly, his gaze lingering on the pallor spreading across Zecilys's countenance.

Concern lines creased themselves on Selena's forehead as she glanced back at the troubled wyvern general. "She has lost a lot of blood, Valter. I can't say for sure but she does have a fighting chance of a healthy recovery. You brought her to me just in time."

Wiping her hands clean of blood, she excused herself to tend to the fresh supplies of wounded soldiers who needed her assistance pronto. But before she did that, Selene charged Valter to watch over Zecilys and alert her if there were any changes, good or ill.

Once the Moonstone was alone, he plopped down right beside Zecilys, observing her meticulously, as if he was afraid of her health taking a drastic turn for the worse and he wouldn't see the change until it was too late. The shallow rise and fall of Zecilys's chest was barely enough to comfort him, yet for now, it would do.

Raking a hand through his sable and navy blue strands, Valter contemplated in how close he was in possibly losing her, Zecilys, the only woman who could have affected him this way. When she wakes up for her slumber, he was torn between either throttling her for her carelessness or kiss her senselessly, caring naught if she would reciprocate his feelings or not.

"You silly fool," he whispered to her, pressing his hand against her brow, still feeling the cool sensation of her skin against his leather glove. Ephraim would eventually sniff this campsite out and demand to see Zecilys. And then, he'll take her away from him, so far away, into Renais and pronounce Zecilys as his queen.

Ire vehemently boiled inside of Valter's veins and he clenched his fists rather tautly, a flash of rage marking his strong, alabaster features. Oh, he'll show that irksome whelp a thing or two the next time they encountered each other. Ephraim was a worthy opponent, he'll admit that much, but in the end, it would be him who will have his foot placed on the defeated prince's chest, his lance at his throat while commanding him to yield.

Still…that wouldn't ensure the fact that Zecilys would stay with him, Olivia, and the rest of the Grado army. She just might run into the waiting arms of Ephraim and joyfully resign herself to play the role as his blushing bride. As much Valter despised the thought of Zecilys becoming the future queen of Renais, he begrudgingly conceded if being with Ephraim made her content, he would suffer quietly and try to be happy for her. Hence the word _try_.

As the minutes ticked by and Zecilys showed no signs of waking up, Valter dug out the silver necklace his mother had granted to him on the day of her death. Quickly snapping his head over to the closed flap of the pavilion, the Moonstone didn't approach the sleeping woman until he was satisfied that no one would walk in on him and witness what he was to do. Holding his breath, Valter clasped the argent, embellished pendant around Zecilys's slender, creamy neck and let the intricate, beautifully carved medallion gently fall against her rising chest. After than, Valter simply watched and waited, hoping to see those eyelids of her flutter open and fix her wildcat, golden orbs upon him once more.

* * *

_**Carmine and shades of crimson clouded her vision. That's all she saw. Blood, blood, and more blood. **_

_**  
Was it hers? Was it Valter's or Ephraim's perhaps?**_

_**She opened her mouth to scream, to call out to the two men she loved so dearly to stop fighting and put their lances aside but not a sound came out. Was she dead, did she fail to warn Valter of the arrows and as a result, was he too punctured with the arrows' deadly tips? **_

_**Struggling to find her voice, Zecilys croaked out the one name that meant so much to her, more than life itself. "Valter."**_

"_**Zecilys?"**_

_**Her heart lurched forward, practically bursting out of her chest at the sound of his timbre. That was Valter, he had to be nearby! **_

"_**Valter?" she called out, the calling becoming stronger than the first time. "Where are you?"**_

"_**I'm right here, Zecilys. Open your eyes and you'll see." **_

As if on cue, the turquoise-haired wyvern rider snapped her eyes wide open and was first blinded by an endless stretch of beige and tan. Then, as her vision adjusted itself to her surroundings, she saw none other than Valter sitting beside her, a hint of a relieved smile dancing on his lips.

"You made it, Valter…" Zecilys breathed out, her visage cracking up into a small beam when she beheld minimal injuries on the wyvern knight. "You survived."

"All thanks to you."

Then his eyebrows furrowed and his expression changed instantly. "Zecilys, what madness possessed you to risk your life for me? I thought you wanted—" He halted abruptly, choosing not to finish his sentence and remain silent. Moistening her lips, Zecilys mentally prepared herself in how she would tell Valter the true reason why: that she loved him.

"Don't be furious with me, Valter. I had to. If I didn't and you died, I would have been so distraught. I don't believe I…" Voice cracking, she broke off, turning her face away from the said general. She had to be mad, insane! How could she possibly tell him? She was in over her head surely; there was no way she could—

Her panicked musings died immediately when she felt a gloved hand wrap itself around her chin and bringing her head around to face the owner. Valter's fathomless obsidian orbs were locked onto her amber ones and suddenly, Zecilys felt so small, exposed even. She opened her mouth to explain again but again, words eluded her. Valter was waiting for an answer and she had nothing to give to him.

_Wait…who said anything about _telling_ him?_

Inwardly grinning ear to ear with new food of thought, Zecilys mustered up all her strength and courage for this action. Right when Valter was going to prompt another inquiry, she launched herself out at Valter, encircled her arms around him lovingly, and planted an ardent kiss to his mouth, silently proclaiming her love to him.

Much to Zecilys's delight, Valter soon responded. Albeit, at first, her bold act took him off guard. However, the Moonstone was all too ecstatic to simply do nothing. Rapidly, his hands entangled themselves into the female's wavy, muted turquoise locks, massaging her back lightly while he fervently kissed her back.

Now, he didn't have to worry about losing her to the righteous, meddling Renais princeling and watch her become his bride in an elaborate, joyous ceremony (providing if he even lived through the war to behold the wedding). He could spend the rest of his days in the company of Zecilys, repairing the Outterridge household and battling their enemies with their last breath.

The couple were still locked in their heated, tender embrace when Selena opened the tent and announced to a sheepish Zecilys and a disgruntled Valter that Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika had found their campsite. And the lord was demanding to see Zecilys.

* * *

Ephraim knew he was nearly in over his head but they had vanquished most of Grado's troops and plus, they had no intention of attacking them. All he wanted was to see Zecilys and know if she was all right. And chat with her for a bit if she was awake.

After waiting patiently for what seemed like an eternity, General Selena and General Valter emerged out of a tent, their faces stolid and expressionless. He looked squarely at them, trying his best not to shoot a fiery, venomous glower at Valter. Like with the two generals in front of him, he schooled a neutral, passive look on his features, hoping they would grant his request.

Well, he hoped Selena Fluorspar would.

"Prince Ephraim," began the said flaxen-haired magic knight, fixating her penetrating gaze on him sharply. Ephraim held his breath, waiting for her answer.

"…you may see her. Go."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ephraim nodded, and muttered his thanks to her but ignored Valter when he passed them. Mayhap his ears were playing tricks on him but did the Moonstone utter a soft but vicious snarl at him?

_Forget about him, he's not worth it right now. What matters it that I finally get to see Zecilys again, after all these arduous weeks. _

With a hopeful heart, he entered the tent and was greeted with the pleasant sight of a weary but relieved Zecilys smiling at him.

"I first thought General Selena was jesting when she said the scouts had spotted your army," she voiced out serenely as Ephraim sat down beside her. He took one of her hands and cupped it into his own two hands, relishing the mixture of warmth and coolness they provided. Zecilys cocked her head curiously at him, her gilt orbs perplexed and almost anxious even. But Ephraim utter nothing, he merely smiled tenderly at her before brushing his lips affectionately over her knuckles.

"Ephraim! What—?" she stopped short, disbelief now swirling in her eyes and flickering across her sun-kissed features. But Ephraim barely paid any attention to this, he had to tell her now before he lost his nerve and he couldn't afford for that to betide.

"Zecilys, Kyle told me of your…feelings. For me," he began, pausing to kiss each knuckle of her strong, beautiful hand. Zecilys felt a welt form in her throat and hastily swallowed the growing lump down.

"H-He did? When?" she asked nervously but puzzlement struck her. After all this time, she had esteemed that Kyle loathed her guts. Why the sudden change of heart?

"We were trying to escape Renvall when Orson betrayed us. Kyle sacrificed his life so Forde and I could get away." explained Ephraim, his adoring gaze never wavering. "With his dying breath he told me that you loved me. If he hadn't done that…I don't think I would be confessing my love to you right now, Zecilys."

Right there, Zecilys was half-afraid he would attempt to kiss her–how could she tell him that she didn't love him anymore and it was Valter who held her heart now? How? How can she inform him of news so terrible, so crushing without breaking his heart? Never in her life had Zecilys wished for the earth to swallow her whole but now, she vigorously did–more so than ever.

Yet, Ephraim stayed where he was and didn't even betray a slightest hint of him seeking to kiss her or go any further. Even though he seemed that he was content with their situation, the gleam in his true blue eyes told Zecilys differently. He wanted her now and he wanted her **bad**.

With a heavy, pained heart, Zecilys began, "Oh, Ephraim, there's something you must know—" Before she could continue, Ephraim pressed his lips against hers, silencing her response. His arms wrapped themselves around her but there was a tentative manner to him, like they were wary of aggravating her still healing wounds.

"You don't need to tell me, Zecilys. I already know." he murmured against her mouth, his tongue teasing her bottom lip.

"You do?!" exclaimed the gold-eyed female, too dumbfounded and stunned to even break off the kiss. "But I don't understand…" Much to her relief, Ephraim pulled back, smiling softly at her but she could still feel the sweet, stinging damnation of his kiss lingering on her lips.

"Just because you're not a virgin anymore doesn't mean I won't have you, Zecilys. It wasn't your fault. The blame solely belongs to that cur Valter—he must pay from his vile transgressions that he has laid upon you." His loving, affectionate expression completely melted from his visage when he mentioned Valter's name and a dark, foreboding aura engulfed him as a savage, vindictive shadow past over his azuline eyes.

All traces of Zecilys trepidation of painfully telling Ephraim that she couldn't reciprocate his affinity vanished, chased away by the abrupt confusion of the Renais prince's newest statement. "Wait a minute. What did you say?"

"I know Valter raped you, Zecilys, there's no need for you to hide it from me. It's nothing to be ashamed of–there was nothing you could do."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this. And here she almost thought Ephraim was aware of her feelings for Valter.

Taking a deep breath, Zecilys grasped Ephraim's hands firmly but friendly and pinned her eyes deep with his own, wanting him to hear every single word that spilled from her mouth. "Ephraim…I don't know who told you that but you're wrong. Valter never harmed me in any way, especially in that manner."

_Although, I couldn't say he didn't touch me at all…_

The young lord's eyes suddenly went wider than sausages. Gapping madly at the female wyvern rider, he used a few seconds to absorb the fact that Lyon, his very best childhood comrade, had yet again, _lied_ to him. He knew Zecilys would never cover up an entity as egregious and traumatizing as being sexually violated. Hence, Lyon being fallacious to him one more was the only explanation.

"You mean…he never ravished you?" he choked out, a slow trickle of hope and relief surging through him as Zecilys nodded her head affirmatively. A beam of sheer, unadulterated exuberance broke through Ephraim's dark, ominous features and once more, Zecilys was trapped in another tender, caring enfoldment of his.

"Oh, thank the gods!" the prince exclaimed softly, hugging her tightly as he nearly buried his face into her silky, tangled mass of turquoise locks. "I could never forgive myself for not protecting you if that had really happened." Zecilys's smile wavered, sorrow twisting itself deep into her core, akin to a knife in her belly. Ephraim was an amazing, wonderful man–why did it have come to this?

Why did she have to the one to break his poor, loving, and loyal heart?

* * *

Color Glossary:

Nigrine- black

Cyaneous- sky blue

Argent- silver

Azuline- blue

Yeah…so not much to say. I really had to get the Ephraim and Zecilys reunion done and out of the way for the future scenes to come. And yes, Ephraim will find out the truth regarding Valter and Zecilys's relationship—that's due in the next chapter, as well as a battle. It's about time I returned writing one of those (I missed them so much!) so strap your seatbelts on, ladies and gentlemen, for the siege of Renais Castle!

FYI, I finally planned when this story will end—chapter-wise. This story will have the total of 25 chapters (epilogue included) so yes, the end is approaching.

I bid you all adieu for now!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	21. Twenty one: The Siege of Renais Castle

**Wild Justice**

**Summary:** AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? Rated T for violence, sexual tension, and character death. [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Twenty-one: **The Siege of Renais Castle

Somehow, someway, I actually got some review for my last horribly long update. Let's see if I get lucky again…although that's highly doubtful.

**Ookawa: **Yeah, it's going to be Valter/Zecilys all the way and as for now, I don't intend to change the official pairing. But Ephraim will have his moments.

**Fireemblemsnumber1fan: **Holy crap! You're back! I almost thought I would never hear from you again. Welcome back!

Heh, that last chapter was a just a pocket full of rainbows, wasn't it? And wow, you said you nearly cried? I wasn't expecting (nor had any idea) that part of the chapter to be that effective. Hopefully some good battle scenes here will cheer you up a bit. ^^

And thank you, I always love reading your reviews. It's good to have you back.

**Blackmasked Angel: **On the contrary, those questions were not stupid at all. They actually reminded me of a few things I should include in this chapter. Now, even though this chapter answers all your questions, I'll still reply to them here.

1): No, not yet. It's implied that Valter will find out about Vigarde's demise in this chapter.

2): Ephraim's group did—more of it will be sort of explained in this chapter.

3): Yes, there will some Caellach and Joshua dialogue…coming right up!

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Blah. I'm growing weary of doing this. You all know I don't own a single bloody entity of The Sacred Stones game.**

* * *

"_You mean…he never ravished you?" he choked out, a slow trickle of hope and relief surging through him as Zecilys nodded her head affirmatively. A beam of sheer, unadulterated exuberance broke through Ephraim's dark, ominous features and once more, Zecilys was trapped in another tender, caring enfoldment of his. _

"_Oh, thank the gods!" the prince exclaimed softly, hugging her tightly as he nearly buried his face into her silky, tangled mass of turquoise locks. "I could never forgive myself for not protecting you if that had really happened." Zecilys's smile wavered, sorrow twisting itself deep into her core, akin to a knife in her belly. Ephraim was an amazing, wonderful man–why did it have come to this? _

_Why did she have to the one to break his poor, loving, and loyal heart?_

* * *

"And where the offensive is, let the great axe fall."**-William Shakespeare**

* * *

Home is where the heart is. Or so they say.

Lance in hand, Ephraim allowed his analytical gaze to helplessly survey the damage down to his homeland, to his precious palace. After a series of neglect done by Orson, the place was fit for only ghosts now and all the memories he held in this once glorious castle seemed to be the only redeeming factor of this wretched, crumbling building.

"I know how you feel, Ephraim. My home is the same way–it's just a pile of ruins now."

Turning his head back, Ephraim felt his lips tug themselves into a half-smile when he saw it was Zecilys who had spoken. He was so relieved and overjoyed that after a week of recovery, she was ready to resume her travels and join him on his quest to free Renais from Orson's grip.

_Although I don't care much for some of the new company we brought along but we need all the manpower we can get. Even if I can't trust two of them. _

Ephraim's ocean blue eyes flicker over to the Moonstone and Tiger Eye, frowning slightly but fathomed that without Zecilys or Selena, those two men would never had joined them.

After speaking with Zecilys, he assembled a private meeting with the three Grado generals to discuss the situation to them. His forces had triumph over theirs but he was willing to offer them a place in their posse and if they were victorious, he would pardon them. No surprise, both Valter and Caellach were disinterested to help him along his crusade but Selena looked torn, as if she was conflicted over her options. If Zecilys hadn't walked in the meeting, Ephraim wasn't sure how the negotiations would have gone. Zecilys informed the generals that she would be joining him on his campaign and expressed her deepest wishes that they would ponder his offer over and align themselves with Ephraim. She even personally directed some of her words towards Selena.

"_**General Selena," she began, her face softening as the renowned mage knight stared at her straight in the eye, "I know how loyal you are to your emperor. But as Ephraim already had told you, he was nothing more than a carcass with a mocking echo of life, a puppet on someone's strings. And your prince, Lyon…we believe he too is engulfed by darkness." **_

_**A morose expression flickered across Selena's fair features. "I know, Zecilys, I know. Caellach told me all about the situation." The said hero shifted slightly at her words but remained stoic as the two women talked. **_

"_**Even though I never would want to betray my country, I have thought about my position for days. I now understand that the man I sworn my fidelity to had died long ago, as did his son. Emperor Vigarde and Prince Lyon would have wanted me to protect all Magvel, with my dying breath if need be." She smiled sincerely at both Zecilys and Ephraim. "I will join you on this crusade against the malevolent Demon King, Prince Ephraim."**_

_**She then snapped her head at Caellach, her star sapphire eyes narrowing at him expectedly. "Well, Caellach?" she said, an almost impatient tone in her timbre. **_

_**Shaking his head amusingly, the Tiger Eye finally relented and answered, "All right, all right, I'm going. You don't have to recite that morality speech to me again."**_

_**A smirk danced across the mage knight's lips. "Good." **_

And then came Valter. Ephraim should have known better that wherever Zecilys went, Valter would follow. He simply esteemed Valter held some sort of obsessive attachment over her and didn't desire for him, Ephraim, to come between him and Zecilys. However, he never expected for Zecilys to approach him in his tent days later and spill everything that happened to her during captivity. When she tearfully told him she loved Valter and was sorry for everything, for breaking his heart, he was at a lost for words.

_**Those tiny, crystalline droplets trickled down her sun-kissed cheeks while golden eyes glimmered with self-contempt, pain, and remorse. Ephraim knew Zecilys well enough that she was inwardly kicking and despising herself for breaking the news to him like this, for destroying any hope of them being together forever after when the war ended. And even though it was his heart that was slowly cracking, he never wanted Zecilys to blame herself on something she really had no control over. **_

_**After all, we don't choose who we fall in love with now, do we?**_

"_**Did you love me once?" he beseeched her, cupping her chin with his hand. She nodded feebly. **_

"_**I did, ever since I first met you. But during my time in Grado, with Valter, things started to change…" she trailed off, more tears raining from her now red-tinted eyes. Desiring to do nothing more than wash her pain away, Ephraim wrapped his arms around her, pulling Zecilys into a friendly enfoldment. Yes, his heart was shattered, the agony of losing her to a man like Valter twisted itself into his gut akin to knife penetrating his flesh and hallowing him out, piece by piece. But comforting Zecilys and making sure she didn't punish herself forever for breaking his heart was more essential–they were still companions and comrade-in-arms.**_

_**Nothing in this world would change that.**_

Glancing over to the turquoise-haired wyvern rider, Ephraim couldn't help himself but watch how the wind gently played with her hair, the way her amber eyes became focused and alert as she prepared herself for battle. Everything about her still titillated him, still moved and exhilarated him. Even though Zecilys told him there would some day be a lucky woman out there who deserved him more than she, Ephraim highly doubt he would ever find another lady like Zecilys. He would never tell her, but he would always love and adore her, even when his heart stopped beating.

* * *

The metallic, surreal rhythm of battle swayed within Zecilys as she twirled her steel lance around, slashing three soldiers in the face. Next to her, Valter had already made himself a small pool of corpses off to the side and was adding more into his sanguinary collection. There were several sparks of anima magic flashing and exploding brilliantly above the fighters but none were so deadly and magnificent than the attacks of Selena Fluorspar. She assailed her foes with such lethal accuracy and precision that is was no wonder why she had ascended into a general rank so rapidly. And beside her was Caellach Tiger Eye, his silver axe cleaving the air and solid flesh with ease and the grace of a panther. While Selena was busy attacking from afar, Caellach would fend off any soldiers who tried to attacking when she was preoccupied or if her back was turned. Zecilys couldn't help but to notice that they were an excellent fighting pair, they always seemed to have each other's back.

Close by, there was Joshua, weaving his sharpened blade around in a lethal arc, cutting men down left and right. Natasha was at his side, preparing to heal him or anyone who became critically injured. Using her staff, she even managed to bonk one soldier on the head when Joshua's back was turned. The sight of Natasha's impromptu defeat was enough to make the crimson-haired myrmidon grin toothily.

"Nicely done, Natasha. Next time, get him good in the nose." he jested lightly, causing the blond cleric to turn many different shades of pink. Suddenly, a volley of arrows whizzing through the air interrupted their fleeting moment of happiness. Springing into action, Joshua encircled his arms around Natasha and rolled them out of harm's way. Just when they dodged the last of the arrows, three cavaliers charged towards them, appearing out of nowhere. Cursing, Joshua sprang to his feet, this time wielding a lancereaver instead of a mere steel sword. He yelled at Natasha to flee and find some of the group members but the men on horseback's speed was far too great, they would soon be upon them in no time. Natasha braced herself for the worse, waiting for the blood to spill and watch her Joshua fight valiantly to the end—

Suddenly, all the three steeds tumbled forward, letting out a shrill braying sound while the cavaliers shouted out with shock and detriment. Behind them stood Caellach, tomahawk in hand. His face was unreadable but Joshua espied the glint of grim satisfaction in the hero's tawny eyes.

"Caellach…" the myrmidon began, uncertain what to say after they dealt with the fallen cavaliers. The older man held up his hand, silencing whatever Joshua was about to utter next.

"Don't worry about, kid. I took care of it. Nothing more to it." he replied, wiping blood off of his axe. Even though he didn't want to admit it, they had been purposely avoiding each other after he, Selena, and Valter were persuaded to join the twins by none other than Zecilys herself. Of course, he lately heard of Queen Ismaire's death, the mother of Joshua himself. At first, Caellach was a little miffed that his former comrade-in-arms never disclosed his secret heritage to him but after some cooling off and a few talks with Selena, he managed to somehow (the gods only know why) to forgive his past friend for the little slip. But apparently, Joshua still had a bone to pick with him.

The reason? Joshua thought it was him who killed his mother.

"_**I know you did it, Caellach. Jehanna's sacred stone was destroyed. I know it was you." **_

_**Joshua's chilling, accusatory tone halted the ambitious hero dead in his tracks. He slowly turned around, schooling a nonchalant mask on his visage as he confronted his former partner. "What are you talking about, Joshua?" Caellach stated roughly, cocking one mocking brow at him, "I left your dear mother alive. Unconscious, yes, and with a nasty bump on the head, but alive." **_

_**Joshua's grip on his sword tightened and a tic started in his jaw. "Don't lie to me, Caellach. I know you and what you're capable of. She wouldn't give you the stone so you killed her for it." He narrowed his eyes dangerously at the auburn-haired mercenary who simply stared back. "Well? Isn't that wait happened?" **_

"_**Nope. Selena would never allow me to kill a defenseless, seemingly innocent woman. I simply knocked her out and Selena found the stone and together, we eliminated it. But judging from your expression, that's not what you wanted to hear, wasn't it?" Caellach answered tonelessly, slowly feeling his frustration creep in due to Joshua's obstinate unwillingness to face the truth. It was as if he **_**wanted **_**Caellach to be the ultimate villain just so he could easily blame someone and sink his blade into his flesh. **_

_**This would have erupted into a full-out bloodbath if Natasha and Selena hadn't swooped in the last second and prevented them from drawing their weapons. Despite Selena's constant retellings of what betided, Joshua refused to believe either one of them. He simply marched out of their sight, avoiding eye contact with the Tiger Eye. Which was fine with Caellach–let him sulk all he wanted, it wasn't his problem anyway. **_

_Though, in retrospect_,_ if it wasn't for all the months I spent with Selena, I probably would have ended up killing the queen the long run. _

How the cool-headed, loyal mage knight ever managed to worm herself into his heart, Caellach would never know, yet in a bizarre way, he was grateful for it. Even though he was now going to down a path he was no longer sure of, at least Selena was at his side. Her goals were hazy as well, for after he had informed her awhile ago of Vigarde being an animated corpse and Lyon was now being under control of the Demon King, she had to rethink her alliance. (Plus, she was seething between her teeth when she discovered he, Riev, and Valter knew about this and not she. She wouldn't talk to him for some time but eventually, after explaining everything to her and busting his balls to regain himself back into her favor, she forgave. God's wounds, women were so hard to please!)

"I want to apologize, Caellach," spoke up Joshua, breaking into Caellach's musings, "When I was given a chance to reflect and later talked with Ephraim, I soon came to realize that my mother was killed with dark sorcery." He paused, looking Caellach straight in the eye, his resolve never wavering.

"I'm sorry for blaming you for Mother's death. It was out of place."

Shrugging, Caellach merely replied, "Forget about it, Joshua. We got more important things to worry about."

The Jehanna prince arched one quizzical brow at Caellach's words. "Like what?"

This time, the hero grinned wolfishly, pointing to a small squad of mages heading their way. "Like those soon-to-be-dead idiots. Let's give them Hell, eh, Joshua?"

Smiling for what seemed to be a long time Joshua nodded automatically and drew his steel sword, a twinkle in his scarlet eyes.

"With pleasure."

* * *

Flying inside a keep or any building was always a precarious position for Pegasus and wyvern riders. Their movements were several restricted and they always made excellent targets for archers if they flew too high. Hence, Cormag and Tana were always watching out for each other; ready to spring into immediate action if a stray arrow came spiraling towards them.

"Cormag! There's a lone knight heading for Colm and Neimi! We should help them out!" called out Tana and the palomino nodded his head firmly, diving straight for the enemy. Tana quickly followed him, lance pointed mortally at the knight's head. The two riders blocked the knight's path, giving Colm and Neimi ample time to retreat and unlock any hidden chests nearby.

The enemy sneered at Cormag and Tana, whirling around to butt his sharp lance at Tana, who reacting too slowly to his rapid attack. The Frelia princess released a small gasp of pain as the point of the pike pierced her leg, blood oozing out like a thin, garnet rivulet.

"Tana!" cried out Cormag, worry and rage intermixed in his voice and with a fierce battle cry, whacked the end of his lance against the knight's head, causing him to stumble back. He then pressed onward, thrusting his lance out multiple times, his assaults resembling the quills on a porcupine. Tana swiftly managed to come to Cormag's defense as the severely injured knight responded back by stabbing Cormag's wyvern deeply in the chest, causing the creature to shriek unearthly which made Cormag falter a bit. Seizing the opportunity, Tana dug her lance deep into the knight's back, twisting it around so he wouldn't even think about trying to land one last attack on Cormag. Not a single sound escaped from the knight as he slumped to the floor–Death had already taken him.

"Your leg…is it all right?" queried Cormag as Tana yanked her weapon out of the carcass. The Pegasus rider nodded, trying her best to suppress a wince as the pain shot up and down her leg, a trickle of vivid scarlet continuing to flow from the stab wound as she moved around in the saddle.

"I'll manage," she replied, waving Cormag's concerns away, "Don't worry about me, Cormag, I'll be fine. It's just a flesh wound."

The young wyvern rider frowned, narrowing his dark eyes suspiciously at her injury. "That looks more than just a 'flesh wound' to me. We should go to one of the healers—"

Tana quickly cut him off.

"Colm and Neimi still need our help! We have to back them up in case more soldiers come after them!"

Before he could protest, she had already taken flight, heading straight towards the snide thief and the timid archer. Shaking his head, Cormag grumbled under his breath that sounded like "blasted, troublesome girl is going to get herself killed" prior to kicking his heels against his wyvern and together, beast and rider followed the princess of Frelia.

* * *

Ever since their journey from the Jehanna desert to Renais Castle, Forde still found it incredibly difficult to grasp that Valter had a cousin, especially one like Olivia. At first glance, you never would have suspected it since they barely looked anything alike, save for pale skin. Valter just seemed like the type of the person who was spawned or emerged out from the fiery pits of Hell to wreak havoc on mankind. But you would learn soon enough of Valter's cousin if you spoke ill of the said wyvern knight and found her fist rammed into your face. Forde could never forget his first real encounter with Olivia Outterridge (not just their brief battle in the desert). He doubt Seth had either.

"_**Have you heard, Forde?" Seth spoke softly, almost bitterly, "Ephraim is allowing the Grado generals to join us. Dame Selena I can understand but the other two…" He trailed off, shaking his head remorsefully. Forde was almost stunned at Seth's display of emotions–never had he seen his mentor and teacher show such disagreement or disapproval with Prince Ephraim's methods. **_

_**Attempting to lighten up the staid paladin, Forde responded cheerfully, "I'm sure our prince knows what he's doing. After all, Zecilys probably influenced the generals to come to our side. I think it's a blessing in disguise, we could use the extra manpower." **_

_**Seth cut him a sharp glare, his eyes betraying his thoughts on the matter. "I would rather us go into battle outnumbered than trust that monster who calls himself Valter the Moonstone. He is no warrior, he's a ruthless savage—"**_

"_**What was that about my cousin?" came a sweetly acidic voice.**_

_**Both men turn around to face the petite, silently fuming Olivia Outterridge, azure eyes rife with fire and indignation, her cropped rose tresses swaying slightly past her shoulders with the feeble breeze. **_

"_**C-Cousin?" choked out Seth, trying to maintain his professional composure, "Valter has a cousin?"**_

"_**Yes, you lackwitt, he does. Like everyone else, he has a family too," she retorted scathingly, fists clenched, "I hope to the gods all paladins aren't like you, Seth of Renais." **_

"_**Hey, hey, wait," began Forde, holding his hands between the rogue and the silver paladin, acting as the mediator between two hostile parties, "let's not go down that road. Forgive my commander, milady, but he fought with Valter before and didn't think too highly of your, er, cousin." **_

_**The lithe female snorted at his words. "That's hardly news to me. Almost everyone is like that–they so easily believe in all the lies and libels they hear." She then turned her fulminating gaze on Seth, her crystal blue eyes hardening with righteous fury. "But you listen to me, rapscallion. You don't know a single bloody thing about Valter so before you start making snap judgments about him and insult him, use your head first. The mouth is the source of all trouble, some say." **_

_**That would have been the end of the confrontation if Seth hadn't put his two cents in her argument. "I can understand you bias towards him but you must understand all the treachery your cousin has done. He is a farouche, merciless beast, he has no capacity—"**_

_**Obviously, neither Forde or Seth were aware of Olivia's short-fuse, volatile temper or else all the subsequent events could have been avoided. Unable to suppress her mounting rage, Olivia snapped and pulling her arm back, swiftly extending it and drove her fist viciously into the paladin's visage, nearly popping his nose. Startled by this brusque, unexpected assault, Seth stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet while fresh blood oozed down from his cut lip and damaged nose. His burnet eyes were bright and round with alarm and stupefy. He struggled to find the words to speak. **_

_**Forde was too dumfounded to talk, much less do anything. His stare remained glued to the roseate-haired rogue, who was heaving heavily as if she was still holding herself back from delivering an even deadlier punch to the paladin. **_

"_**Consider that a warning, Seth of Renais," she spat, celeste orbs brimming with cool satisfaction, spinning on the balls of her feet and left them be. Seth managed to recover from Olivia's surprise assailment and wiped the blood away, muttering about going to see Moulder or Natasha for assistance. Forde was about to follow him but a small yet potent innate emotion told him to look back. He did, watching the retreating figure of the pink-haired rogue. Images of her fuming face and outraged eyes came back to him, brilliant azure eyes rife condemning him for believing in the canards everyone else spread. And despite all that, they remained strong and true, refusing to waver and crumble. **_

_**Yet deep inside those swirling azuline vortexes of fire, brio, and caprice, Forde caught a brief shadow of pain, as if Seth's previous words about her cousin wounded her deeply. **_

"Forde! Watch yourself!"

Blinking, the Crimson Shield of Renais barely had any time to dodge the oncoming attack of the cavalier's lance as his sword came around to parry the onset. His savior, the infamous pink-haired cousin of Valter, swiftly came behind the opposing cavalier, embedding her dagger straight into his neck, a feral grin twisting on her lips as the man choked out a gasp, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. He slumped over on his chestnut destrier and crashed to the ground, listless forevermore. Olivia, nimble and graceful as any feline, hopped off the horse, and snapped her head up at Forde.

"Idiot! Why weren't you paying attention?" she hissed at him, sky blue eyes flashing furiously at him, "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Forde held his hands up in mock surrender. "Calm down, Olivia. He's dead now, you don't have to worry about me any longer." This earned him a snort from the said female.

"Worry about you? Pah! I just didn't want you dying on my watch." But for some peculiar reason, even though she was scorning him, the dirty-blonde cavalier could detect an extremely faint rosy blush creeping on Olivia's cheek. Just before he could smirk triumphantly and ruffle her feathers some more, the whizzing sound of an arrow ensnared his attention and he whirled around in the opposite direction.

To his utter horror, two archers, hidden behind an open doorway, suddenly launched their arrows at him and Olivia and already the parlous, pointed weapons were buzzing right for them. Forde screamed out a warning to Olivia but he didn't have time to turn around to see if she was already ducking for cover. His horse, already sensing the urgency of the situation, manueavered around, assaying to elude the arrow. The one aimed for him missed him by a hair yet when he turned his head around to face Olivia, he soon realized she wasn't so lucky. The arrow protruding out of her left shoulder, blood copiously bleeding down her arm and the cobble-stoned floor. Her beautiful, charming, alabaster visage was scrunched up in sheer agony, a strangled gasp tearing itself free from her dry lips.

"Olivia!" Forde cried out horrifically, dismounting and rushing to her side, his arms slipping underneath her so he could carry the petite female, "Hold on, I'll get you to one of the clerics or L'Arachel. They can remove the arrow and heal you in no time."

"Good because this hurts like Hell," grunted Olivia breathlessly, more beads of sweat already forming on her brow, "But we have to do something about those pesky archers. They're going to attack again." Following the direction of her scrutiny, the cinnabar clad cavalier witnessed the two enemy archers knocking their bows once more, prepared to fire again.

Growling, Forde grabbed his fallen javelin and leveling his weapon at one archer with detailed precision, he brought his arm back, and then launched the deadly javelin into the air. His aim was straight and true–one of the archers soon found his javelin impaled straight through his chest.

However, the remaining archer remained unfazed by the death of his comrade-in-arms, he merely extended his bow arm all the way until his bow fingers grazed his ear. Forde scrambled find another javelin or a short spear but find nothing he could hurl at a distance relatively close enough to the archer. Panic seizing him, he raced towards his horse, Odin, clutching Olivia fiercely to his chest while ignoring her exclamations that she could walk just "bloody fine".

Yet the second archer never got the chance to shoot. A whirling, caliginous orb of dark sorcery blasted at him from behind, sending him hurtling through the air and ricocheting past Forde and Olivia. A few seconds later, Knoll and Amelia emerged out of the doorway. Forde breathed out a sight of relief.

"Boy, am I glad to see you two," he said, helping Olivia up on his steed before mounting himself, "I think you saved our hides, Knoll."

The reclusive, usually quiet shaman nodded in response, a fleeting smile flickering on his pale features. "It's no problem, Forde," he answered swiftly as he and Amelia approached them. He stopped, noticing the blood pouring out Olivia's shoulder. "Natasha is nearby, Forde. We can bring you and Olivia to her–follow us!"

Without warning, Knoll disappeared back into the doorway, Amelia right behind him. But she gave Forde and Olivia a reassuring smile over her shoulder before she too vanished. Shaking his head, Forde dug his heels into Odin's sides and the stallion cantered forward, following the shaman and newly evolved female cavalier.

* * *

"Are we almost there?" Zecilys murmured over to L'Arachel, who had just recently patched all her wounds up from a previous onslaught. The yellow chartreuse-haired troubadour shook her head up and down, curly ringlets nearly flying into her face from the vigorous force of her nod.

"Yes, the throne room and Orson are in sight. After we defeat the rest of the soldiers in this castle, we shall proceed straight to where that traitorous paladin awaits." L'Arachel reported dramatically, steering her horse away from the sprawled corpses. Zecilys hovered near her, acting as her guardian angel should any of their adversaries suddenly appear and commence to assail. Over the course of several weeks, the two women developed a tight friendship, one reason centering on the fact they both knew the same man who had been dear to both of their hearts: Irthos.

"_**Oh, pardon me," said L'Arachel as she nearly bumped into a turquoise-haired woman who wore the armor of a wyvern wider. Golden eyes flashed back at her and as the female turned to face her, the Rausten princess froze immediately as if she had seen a ghost. **_

"_**No, I'm sorry," the female began, "I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm Zecilys by the way–I don't believe we have met before." She held out her hand for L'Arachel to shake and the troubadour did just that, unable to tear her gaze away from Zecilys's striking amber eyes. She had seen eyes like hers before and they belonged to Irthos, the fickle, tormented druid who had given her his heart and departed with hers safely tucked away. Zecilys obviously must have noticed the morose, distant look in her eyes for she subsequently inquired if she was all right.**_

_**Shaking her head, L'Arachel replied, "No, it's just…your eyes, they reminded me of someone I loved. Your face…it's like an echoing vision of him." **_

_**Zecilys cocked one eyebrow at his but a spark of dread seemed to flicker in her gold orbs. "This man you speak of…what is his name?" **_

_**L'Arachel's response was instant. "Irthos."**_

And that was how it all began. With no time wasted, she soon found out that Irthos was Zecilys's younger brother and learned of the tragic fate that befell him. Zecilys even showed her his effects, handing the defender of light an arcane tome called _Dunklenacht_ and a letter addressed to her.

"_**When you're done reading it, you must read his journal. It explains everything that happened to him before and after he met you." **_

_**With tears rolling down her cheeks, L'Arachel heeded her words and painstakingly read Irthos's letter to her. In the missive, he apologized to her that he could never give them the happy life that she deserved, saying there was no other woman who touched him more than she. He then went saying if his seed bore fruit in her womb and if the child was a girl, to name her 'Bliss', after his mother. Everything he had left was bequeathed to her and the potential baby–if there was one.**_

After this, she and Zecilys spent the time sobbing on each other's shoulders, reminiscing over Irthos, a poor victim of the Demon King's grab for dominance and power. As they read through his journal, newfound rage began to root deep inside of them when they realized who was responsible for inserting half of the Demon King's soul into Irthos: Riev the Blood Beryl.

Both women vowed together they would vanquish and destroy that odious, sanctimonious man and spare him no quarter. Never in her life had L'Arachel ever experienced such a desire to maim, kill, and obliterate someone before, never. But Riev ruined the love of her life's childhood and nearly succeed in abolishing his soul and hallowing him out into an empty shell for the worst abomination to ever grace the history of humanity. L'Arachel knew Zecilys felt the same way.

After healing the wound on Tana's leg, L'Arachel descended into battle with everyone else, smiting any foot soldiers with her staff. Beside her, Dozla and Rennac were tearing into a small cluster of mages and monks, limbs and heads flying in every direction from the fatal swing of Dozla's axe and the deadly arches and slashes of Rennac's daggers. Soon the two men were standing in a sanguinary pile of dismembered cadavers and shredded robes.

"I see the throne room!" called out Zecilys, pivoting her head at L'Arachel, "It won't be long now, L'Arachel!"

The said troubadour nodded, unable to stop her hand from creeping up and resting itself on her belly. She had to tell someone soon (maybe Zecilys? After all, she was going to be an aunt), but there never seemed to be enough time, especially with all the battle strategies and onslaughts being planned out. Besides, she had to be cautious from now on, no harm must befall on the child.

Viciously kicking foot soldier in the face and letting Amelia and Knoll finish him off for her, she cantered her horse over to Zecilys's side for extra support. The young turquoise-haired wyvern rider easily dispatched two cavaliers and a shaman yet had some help from Artur when dealing with the shaman. L'Arachel observed Zecilys fiercely impale her lance deep into the dying magic practitioner's chest, silencing his ragged breathes once and for all. Dimly, she wondered if her unborn baby would have Irthos's and Zecilys's wildcat eyes of gilded amber.

A soft smile curled upon her lips as she thought about her and Irthos's baby. Irthos never truly did depart from her; he had left a tiny part of him inside of her, gifting the most beautiful, magical miracle of them all. And L'Arachel was resolute to raise the child where there where no monsters or the Demon King running about, hell-bent for mankind's enslavement. Irthos gave his life to stop the Demon King's plans; she wasn't going make his sacrifice all in vain.

_Fear not, Irthos. I will vanquish all those unholy pagans with my power of justice and light! Goodness will prevail, my love!_

* * *

This was the moment Orson had been waiting for.

The opportunity was ripe. All of Ephraim's forces were coming towards him and the remaining members of his army. In the front, he espied the crimson armor of Forde and flanking him was no doubt his younger brother, Franz. He caught a flash of maiden's blush and blinked, wondering who on earth was the petite female with shocking rosette tresses trotting behind them. Yet he banished the perplexed musing as soon as it came around, focusing all his attention onto his first three foes charging towards him. He would finish them off quickly, he had to conserve his strength for Seth, who would give him a challenging fight, no question about it.

Forde brandished his lance, hazel eyes narrowing hostilely at Orson. Franz leveled his lance at the traitorous paladin, his hand shaking slightly. Orson spied the young boy gulp nervously but maintained an unwaveringly brave face on.

"So we meet again, Forde," he began, gripping his silver lance tightly, preparing himself for a rushed assault.

"Yes, we meet again," Forde repeated bitterly, aiming the lance's point at him lethally, "Was it all worth it, Sir Orson? The betrayal? Kyle's death? Your poor, departed wife is weeping in shame."

Smiling ruefully, Orson shook his head, replying, "You're wrong, Forde. My wife is happy. We are so very happy." With that said, he attacked.

Forde and Franz stumbled back while Olivia rolled out of harm's way as Orson lunged his lance forward, striking the shoulder plate of Forde's garnet armor. Franz then moved in to attack, the butt of his pike piercing into Orson's thigh. The aged paladin hissed, clubbing the youth across face with his free hand. Yelping, Franz tumbled out of the saddle yet rapidly began to collect his bearings in enough time to parry Orson's next assailment. Forde then came along his right side and smote Orson's shoulder, blood spilling out the gash like an ominous, cardinal waterfall. The ponytailed cavalier subsequently received a nasty graze wound across his stomach as Orson speedily pivoted around and slashed his lance at Forde, almost stabbing him in the stomach.

All of a sudden, Orson's albicant steed shrieked in sheer agony, nearly bucking the paladin off him. Bellowing out with wrath and rage, Orson whirled himself around just in time to see a dagger embedded in his mount's hindquarters, an enormous cerise splotch already pooling around the wound. He looked up, eyes ablaze with fury at the female and swung his silver lance at her neck. The pink-haired rogue swiftly ducked his lance, avoiding the grisly fate of her head being lopped off by the honed point of the lance. Just when he was about pursue Olivia, Forde and Franz rushed at him together, colliding into him from behind and along the side. Unfortunately, that course of action was the straw that broke the camel's back. An astronomical surge of furious strength commenced to course through Orson's veins and he spun his lance dangerously around, managed to shove the brothers aside, more gashes and deep cuts littering their body.

"Forde!" called out Olivia, worry transparent in her tone, "Be careful!"

_These three are more bothersome than I originally believed. I have to finish this battle now if I want to protect Monica!_

Fathoming the rage of Forde because what he was about commit next would certainly tip him over the edge, Orson spun his horse around and before the young Franz had time to react, the weary, tormented paladin of Renais slammed his lance all the way into Franz's body, the head of the spear sticking out of the boy's back.

Time stopped for Forde as he watched with sheer horror Orson impaling his lance into his diligent younger brother. All the blood drained from his countenance as Orson ruthlessly pushed the lance into Franz a bit more ere he yanked it out. All the light seemed go out of the youthful, olive armored cavalier as he promptly collapsed to the ground, a river of blood gushing out of his fatal wound, his young visage frozen in shock. Only then did Forde find his voice–and his strength.

"ORSON! YOU DAMNED BASTARD! I'LL **BUTCHER **YOU!"

With a howl so terrible, so heart-wrenching that such a doleful, enraged yell could only be voiced if one suffered from a horrible tragedy and lost something or someone precious to them, Forde raced at Orson once more, his courage renewed and bloodlust on his mind. Even Olivia stood back, sensing this was a battle just between Forde and Orson. She cast a mournful glance at Franz, refreshed grief echoing in her cerulean orbs.

The two Renais men uttered nothing, simply parried and smashed their lances against each other. Untold ire gleamed in both warriors' eyes, the vital source of their herculean power. Finally, their lances gave in and snapped after one brutal assailment yet the two horsemen simply tossed their broken lances away and unsheathed their swords instead. Forde's steel blade clashed with Orson's silver sword and the two became locked in an epic, bloody onset of death and revenge.

Meanwhile, Olivia could only stand and watch Forde battle Orson with his life on the line and for some unknown reason, terror gripped her heart harder than before. The last two times she experienced such an overwhelming emotion of trepidation was when she was forced to watch Valter's trial and when she waited for Valter to bring the news of Crandon's death. Gritting her teeth together, Olivia clenched the hilt of her dagger, unable to hold herself back. She didn't care what Forde said, she had to help him in this fight–he was outclassed by this paladin.

And by the seven fires of Hell like she was going have him die on her!

Holding her breath, she raced forward, and launched herself on the man called Orson, nearly dragging him off his saddle. Ignoring Forde's holler of "No! Olivia!", she fought on. After a few seconds of squirming, they both tumbled off of the horse and rolled across the throne room floor, cutting each other with their respective blades. Finally, Olivia disengaged herself from Orson's taut grip on her but a minute too late. Just as she was about to roll out of his reach, he brought the side of his sword on her legs, slashing at her calf muscles. A scream of pure pain and agony rend itself from Olivia's lips and with hot tears prickling her eyes, she desperately tried to crawl away from Orson but with no avail. He grabbed her legs and ferociously pulled her towards him, flipping her on his back. The point of his sword resting underneath her chin, ready to sink its deadly point into her delicate, vulnerable throat. Their eyes met for a brief second and Olivia detected regret in the paladin's dusky, broken eyes.

"I'm sorry," he rasped at her as he brought his sword arm up, prepared to give her a quick, painless death, "but I must do this for my wife."

Instinctively, Olivia shut her eyes, waiting for the kiss of the cold steel to slit her throat and hurtled her into the nigrine oblivion of Death. But what she didn't expect was to hear Forde's strangled scream of unparallel umbrage and choler, the pained groan of Orson, and the sound of a sword clattering to the ground. When she opened her eyes, she beheld Forde kneeling right in front of her, panic and concern blazing in his eyes. Behind him was a dead Orson, pinned to the wall by the upper piece of his broken silver lance.

The reign of Orson was over.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Celeste- blue

Burnet- brown

Cinnabar- red

Cardinal- deep scarlet

Albicant- white

Nigrine- black

So that's the battle for Renais. The next chapter will take place in Rausten Palace and the fight that soon follows. I'm going to pushing myself to write these last four chapters because I want to finish this story up before summer vacation is over. Thank God for Norwegian and folk/Viking metal bands, their music really helped inspire me while I was writing down all the combat scenes. I think I'll be listening to them for now on while I finish this story. Hey, I throw some Celtic metal bands into the mix as well.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter despite the rather long wait. I was going to starting writing in May but that's AP month and I was more focused on prepping myself for my AP exams (I had five to do but I reckon some of you had more) so this story got pushed into the backburner. But now that school is over and summer is here, I will do my utmost best to update in a jiffy (which will be an interesting challenge considering how many roleplay games I'm in and I talk forever on Skype with my wonderful comrade, **Celtic Aurora**).

Until next chapter, I bid you all adieu!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	22. Twenty two:Conflict Within Rausten Court

**Wild Justice**

**Summary:** AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Twenty-two: **Conflict Within the Rausten Court

My deep thanks to all of you read my previous chapter. Good to see there are still people out there who are interested in _**Wild Justice**_.

FYI, I'm going to be using a few lines from the TSS script. Just covering my arse here, can't be too cautious about that.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones doesn't belong to me. I just own this story and all my OCs. That's all. **

* * *

"_I'm sorry," he rasped at her as he brought his sword arm up, prepared to give her a quick, painless death, "but I must do this for my wife."_

_Instinctively, Olivia shut her eyes, waiting for the kiss of the cold steel to slit her throat and hurtled her into the nigrine oblivion of Death. But what she didn't expect was to hear Forde's strangled scream of unparallel umbrage and choler, the pained groan of Orson, and the sound of a sword clattering to the ground. When she opened her eyes, she beheld Forde kneeling right in front of her, panic and concern blazing in his eyes. Behind him was a dead Orson, pinned to the wall by the upper piece of his broken silver lance. _

_The reign of Orson was over. _

* * *

"Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,

Blood and revenge are hamming in my head."

-**William Shakespeare,** _Titus Andronicus_

* * *

By the time Ephraim and his company were admitted into the Rausten court, the Renais prince felt weary to the bone even though he wouldn't show it. It was a joyous reunion for both L'Arachel and Pontifex Mansel as niece and uncle collapsed into each other's embrace.

"Oh, L'Arachel! It's good to see you safe!" Mansel exclaimed, kissing the top of his niece's head. L'Arachel beamed triumphantly, her chartreuse orbs gleaming with familial affection.

"Of course I'm safe, Uncle. Evil can never defeat the forces of righteousness!"

A tired smile came across Ephraim's face as he watched this tender display of family affinity. It was a relief to see such true joy and love after they had been dealing with constant strife over the several past weeks that he was starting to lose hope. The death of Franz was the first blow. Forde had been nearly inconsolable for days; he was practically wallowing in grief. He barely ate or spoke a word to anyone. It was miracle that Olivia, Valter's cousin, snapped him out of his doleful stupor and brought him back to life again–not without a sever tongue-lashing or two.

The second blow of his band's morale was the reappearance of Lyon. Discovering the Demon King had been rooted on his friend's soul and masqueraded as him the whole time was enough to shatter both his and his sister's world to pieces. Lyon was a dear and close companion to them and he fathomed how much Eirika cared for him. To see him so completely lost to such a flagrant, malignant abomination, his soul being swallowed piece by piece…it was inconceivable.

And now Renais's sacred stone was destroyed. Their only weapon against the Demon King now was Rausten's sacred stone and if that holy relic was annihilated, Magvel would be doomed for sure.

After the introductions were made and Mansel understood the great peril of the Demon King's awakening, the Rausten ruler ordered rooms and accommodations to be prepared for his niece and her guests, declaring they needed at least one night's rest before they go gallivanting off to battle the Demon King. Soon, Ephraim found himself lying on a soft, comfortable bed, staring mindlessly at cream-colored ceiling above him. It had been too long since he last slept in a bed and now, he found the relief to be quite relaxing. He was just about to close his eyes and take a nap when there came a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said, lazily open one eye and Zecilys entered the chambers. He immediately sat up straight.

"Sorry to disturb you," she began simply, "But I just wanted to see how you were. Ever since our encounter with the Demon King posing as your friend, Lyon, you have been a lot quieter than usual."

"I've been better," Ephraim admitted, hanging his head, "But Zecilys, it's just…I don't know what to do. Lyon is my childhood comrade and to witness him being consumed by such madness…" He felt the weight changing in the bed as Zecilys sat down next to him and almost smiled when she placed a hand on his shoulder. He slowly lifted his gaze up to meet her unblinking, gold eyes, wondering if she held all the answers behind those wildcat orbs.

"Can I even save him?"

The prince's pleading question barely spoke above a whisper yet the query reverberated all over the chamber like a loud, ominous, despairing church bell. A hush settled over the pair and Zecilys desperately tried to find a way to break the news to him gently. She had experienced the Demon King's power first-handedly when she came face-to-face with Irthos for the final time. And she knew there was only one method to save someone from such a horrible possession.

Nodding slowly, she replied, "You can but it's not the most desirable way, Ephraim." He cocked a brow at her words but stayed mum. "As you heard from both me and L'Arachel, my brother was the other host for the Demon King. When I went up against him…Irthos begged me to kill him, claiming it was the only way to save him. Most of his soul had been gnawed up by the Demon King, his body was nothing but a marionette to that despicable demon." There was no escaping the bitterness in Zecilys words, no matter how hard she attempted to control herself. Yet she never broke eye-contact with the Renais prince as she spoke, she apprehended how much Ephraim needed to hear this. The message would be hard and heart-breaking but it had to be done.

"Death is the only way to free Prince Lyon, Ephraim. I'm sorry."

A more deafening silence rang out in Ephraim's quarters yet he managed to nod his head, his body now acting as if an enormous weight had been added to his shoulders.

"I was afraid of that," he whispered, ocean blue eyes rife with trepidation and grief, "But now that you confirmed my suspicions…it must be done, right?"

Zecilys nodded, moving her arm down to take his hand into her own. "And when the time comes, Ephraim, I will be at your side. Friends not let each other walk a road of darkness alone." She offered him a small, reassuring smile and suddenly, a trickle of hope surged through him. He wouldn't be in this grisly, painful journey alone, Zecilys would be there with him, along with the rest of his band. He couldn't lose faith just yet, not when so many others placed theirs in him.

Nodding, he closed his eyes and leaned in, resting his brow against hers. "Thank you, Zecilys. I appreciate your support."

* * *

"What was it that you wanted to speak to me so privately?" queried Pontifex Mansel to his niece as she entered his chambers. Behind L'Arachel was Zecilys, who had depart from her conversation with Ephraim early to give moral support to L'Arachel as she broke the news to her uncle that she was pregnant.

When Zecilys first heard that she was going to be aunt from L'Arachel a few days after overtaking Renais Castle, the feisty turquoise-haired wyvern rider enveloped the troubadour in an enormous, loving embrace. Of course, she had been shell-shocked at first, completely caught off guard by L'Arachel's unexpected news. Yet after a little more explanation on the Rausten princess's part, the shock soon evaporated and Zecilys was rejoicing her role as the aunt. She had also assured she'll do anything to help L'Arachel in raising the child because even though the arrival of a baby was a joyous occasion indeed, both females realized the stigma that would be attached to the innocent infant if word broke out that L'Arachel conceived the child out of a wedlock. And L'Arachel was determined to protect her baby from society's harsh, unforgiving gaze and actions, no matter what. Even if it possibly meant not marrying for love.

After all, the man she loved was dead and buried in the cold, hard earth near the ruins of the Melkbane Manor.

"Uncle, this is Zecilys Melkbane," L'Arachel began, struggling to keep herself calm and collected even though her nerves were jumping all over place, their energy endless and tormenting. "I've brought her here for many reasons, reasons you'll find out soon enough." Zecilys nodded at her encouragingly, sending her a subtle 'you-can-do-this' look.

"Go on," Pontifex Mansel urged on gently, the creases on his brow deepening with concern. What exactly was his darling niece going to say that made her so nervous? Did something happen during their journey? Did some man touch his precious L'Arachel inappropriately?

_If so, then that young man is going to get a good whipping with my staff!_

"Uncle…I am with a child."

That was enough to snap Mansel out of his musing. "W-What? L'Arachel, what do you mean? Are you sure? _How_?" He realized he was starting sound like one of those exotic birds called a parakeet that some of his friends have. Then, recalling his earlier fear, he quickly added, "Did someone rape you?"

"Oh no, no, no!" L'Arachel exclaimed, waving his last sentence away, her face flushing a mixture of crimsons and pink, "It was nothing like that, I assure you, uncle!" Pontifex Mansel 'hmphed' a bit but was obliged to take his niece's word…for now.

"Then tell me…how did this happen?" he then queried, frowning. "You're a very sensible girl, L'Arachel. What made you act so rashly to result this?"

The yellow chartreuse-haired valkyrie's teary response was enough to clear everything up and shed a light to the Rausten leader on what exactly his boisterous, righteous niece had underwent since she galloped away from the courts on her own mission to expunge all the evil creatures from their land.

"Love, Uncle. I did it for love."

* * *

After L'Arachel had dragged Zecilys off to go somewhere with her, Ephraim suddenly felt restless. After pacing about in his quarters for several minutes, he grew exasperated and departed his room in an instant, feeling the need to stretch out his legs increasing with every second. He got lost a couple of times during his exploration of Rausten Palace but soon managed to navigate himself around the castle once he comprehended the structure and layout of building. That was how he stumbled across a covert passageway that lead straight to a wall behind the throne room and discovered a private meeting behind held by L'Arachel and her uncle. Zecilys was present too yet she seemed not be saying much. Even though his conscience told him this was rude and uncalled for, the Renais prince couldn't help it but to wonder what Pontifex Mansel could possibly want with Zecilys. He stuck one eye into a tiny hole near the Pontifex's throne and surprisingly enough, he could receive a relatively clear vision of the scene before him. And the whole conversation was loud and clear.

"L'Arachel…do you realize what these means for you?" came her uncle's voice, his voice troubled and worried. Unlike him, L'Arachel remained resolute and firm.

"I do, Uncle. My child must be protected and if I survive the end of this war, I will reevaluate my suitors and pick someone who is kind, caring, understanding, and shall happily welcome my and Irthos's baby as if the infant was his own."

This sent Ephraim's mind reeling with questions.

_Wait, what? L'Arachel is pregnant? By whom? I haven't seen her romantically involved with anyone in the group and she isn't the type of woman who can keep a hidden relationship a secret._

Ephraim couldn't see Mansel's face but he had a feeling the ruler looked sorrowful right now. "It's the safest way out, I'm afraid to say, but I wish…I wish there was something I could do. Isn't there any other man out there who you love and he loves you back?"

L'Arachel shook her head. "Irthos was my first love, Uncle Mansel. And he loved me too."

The gears in Ephraim's head began turning once more as he heard this name for the second time in this discussion. Irthos…where else did that name pop up before? He could have sworn that name passed his ears previously.

_But if L'Arachel is pregnant, why is Zecilys with her? For moral support? It makes sense but there has to be more to—_

His reverie died instantly when an epiphany hit him. Irthos was the name of Zecilys's younger brother, the one who had been possessed by the Demon King! How could he have forgotten that so quickly?

"That explains everything," he whispered to himself. Not only was Zecilys there for encourage L'Arachel and offer her strength but she was the aunt and the only living family member that L'Arachel's baby had left. And knowing Zecilys, she would probably defend her brother's honor if anyone questioned Irthos's virtues or intentions.

Sensing he had seen and intruded on enough, Ephraim pulled himself away from the peephole and walked right out of the covert, shrouded passageway. An idea was now brewing in his mind. If he couldn't be blissful with the love of his life, then perhaps he could make himself happy by making someone else happy as well.

* * *

A fog had gently rolled in through the grounds of Rausten Castle and one small, but vigilant guard was making his rounds even though the night was impenetrable and thick from the nebulous, sinister fog. His shift would have gone smoothly if a dry, threatening cackle hadn't pierced the air and sent chills all over the guard's flesh.

"Heh heh heh... Guard duty? At this time of night? Such a diligent soldier." The guard immediately snapped into attention and looked wildly around him, his eyes bright and alert with panic.

"Huh? Who goes there?" he demanded, waving his spear about in hopes to intimidate the eerie voice from the dark. But suddenly, the disembodied timbre resonated from behind him, near the right side of the palace. The man nearly jumped out of his skin again.

"Where are you looking? I'm over here." cackled the strange, sinister voice and the guard trembled, feeling as though a dozen pair of eyes were watching him while he stood here, exposed and vulnerable to whatever monster lied in the shadows, waiting to strike.

"Wha…" was all he could sputter out as he rushed to where he last heard the voice but unfortunately, the unseen foe wasn't through with him.

"No, no, here. I'm over here." The guard rushed back to his former position, his fear mounting while he frantically swerved his head back and forth to find the culprit. "What's wrong? I'm right here. Heh heh heh..." The ringing, mocking laughter reverberated all around him, crushing all remaining strands of courage the young guard had left.

"Wha…wha…" he choked out feebly, retreating slowly to the door, his grip on his lance shaking hard now. What sort of enchantment or madness was this? It had to be the work of demons, something truly abdominal and malignant! It was the only explanation for something horrific and frightening as this!

The inhuman voice returned. "Is the darkness too deep for you to penetrate? Can't you see what the night is hiding?" it taunted, the volume of its words becoming a rapid, haunting crescendo of trepidation and horror. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Shaking violently with unparallel fright, the guard's legs nearly buckled underneath him and he scrambled to pick himself up as he sprinted towards the door, desperate to escape such a ghastly nightmare while screaming that they were under attack by unseen, unholy forces.

He never saw the crackling, heavy vortex of dark magic swirling towards him until it was too late.

* * *

No one was prepared for the abrupt, unexpected siege on Rausten Castle. When guards suddenly began charging into all areas of the palace, everyone in Ephraim's troupe immediately took arms as fast as they could. Even though darkness had fallen upon the castle and it would be extremely difficult to gauge all the enemies' hideouts and locations, torches were then brought along to burn brightly and banish the creeping, nigrine shroud of oblivion and shadows. Many people chose to find in clusters, rapidly discovering fighting in the dark alone wasn't the wisest decision on earth.

That's why Amelia decided to stay close to Knoll–well, that was one of the reasons. Ever since he first allied himself with Ephraim's cause, Amelia had always helped him out in getting adjusted to the life in the fighting troupe and kept him company when she realized he usually ate alone. Now, she didn't pester him with pointless questions or nonsense but she attempted many times to engage him in meaningful conversations and occasionally, she was victorious. It was those times and the moments on the battlefield when she learned more about Knoll and who he was, and vise-versa. They always went out to combat with each other, always looking out for the other and watching their back. With his dark sorcery and in her increasing prowess with a blade and lance, they were becoming one deadly duo.

A druid now, Knoll wielded a blasting, murrey swirl of Luna against his adversaries while Amelia charged at them from behind, boxing them in until they had nowhere to go save for fight Knoll and Amelia on opposite sides. Knoll blasted them away with more spells, dodging the jutting lances and hacking swords and axes while Amelia did her best to keep the warriors, heroes, and cavaliers off his back. The arrival of Syrene and Gilliam was a blessing indeed when the dutiful Falco knight swooped in from up above, slaying a few of the foes in the middle while the stalwart, taciturn Gilliam impaled a whole slew of them with his silver lance. Now with two more highly experienced and trained allies at their side, Amelia and Knoll were finally able to combat the rest of the Grado soldiers as they pressed them further and further into a corner.

"Are any of you critically injured?" Syrene called out as she hurled a short spear at one hero, hitting him straight in the neck. The man slumped forward, his body still propped up by her weapon.

"No, we are both quite all right, Lady Syrene!" Amelia voiced back, embedding her sword into a warrior's ribs just before he was about to pull out his bow and aim an arrow at the flying Syrene. Knoll finished up the last of cavaliers, earning just a few scraps and shallow slashes around his torso. Gilliam was fending off any fresh new Grado reinforcements that just seemed to magically appear out of nowhere. Grumbling, he lit another torch and a flash of marigold and vermillion flared brilliantly in the dim corridors of the Rausten Palace. Such illumination was enough to reveal an approaching posse of dangerous, relentless Grado fighters.

"Get ready," Gilliam announced deeply, brandishing his lance as they defeated the last man, "More are coming."

* * *

"Away enemies of light! I, L'Arachel, defender of justice and goodness, shall perish you!"

And thus, the princess of Rausten set her foes ablaze with Shine, engulfing the entire room in blinding, golden white luminesce. Several shamans and a paladin fell before her, but it was with the help of Ephraim's lance and Dozla's axe that finished them off. Rennac was off in shadows, stabbing enemies in the back while stealing a few items for the group to use later.

"Brawahahahahaha! That's all of them, Lady L'Arachel! You sure put the fear of Rausten into their hearts!" Dozla boomed out heartily, chuckling as he hoisted his brave axe onto his shoulder. Despite their current situation, L'Arachel ended up grinning right back.

"Yes, Dozla. Just like old times."

He nodded, scanning the hallway for more intruders. "We probably should start helping out the others who are near the gate. Seth and Duessel are calling for more assistance."

"You go right ahead, Dozla," Ephraim told the hefty, massive bodyguard, "I have to speak to L'Arachel privately about something." Prior the said woman could protest, Dozla nodded solemnly, wordlessly entrusting his princess's life in the Renais prince's hands. Once he was gone, he turned back to face L'Arachel.

"Ephraim, have you gone daft?" she exclaimed, eyes wide and bright with puzzlement, "This is a battlefield, we haven't the time for a little talk." Ephraim shot her a look that silenced her immediately.

"I realize that, L'Arachel, but there's something I must propose to you before this battle is over. You never know what could happen." _I could be killed by a stray arrow and you'll never know that I wanted to help you and your child, L'Arachel. _

"If we win this war, Magvel will be in turmoil and many countries will seek to blame Grado for everything," he began, struggling to articulate the words out of his throat, "We can't have that. It's not Gradans' fault they were being lead around the nose by the Demon King, most of them are innocent."

"Of course," interjected L'Arachel, nodding her head a little, "And we can prevent further violence by working together to heal the whole continent. I understand, Ephraim, but what's this have to do with me?"

Ephraim inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "Because I am offering to make you my queen, L'Arachel. Our marriage can bring our two countries together in perfect harmony, an example to show the rest of the world that we are at peace." No sooner than those words left his lips did a dejected expression adorn L'Arachel's visage.

"Ephraim…please don't—" But he was expecting this. He knew she was still in love with Zecilys's brother and thought he was in love with her and didn't want to break his heart by giving him a loveless marriage.

"L'Arachel, don't worry about hurting me. I know you love someone else and he is dead." Her eyes went wider than sausages.

"Y-You do? H-How?" she stammered, taken completely aback. If it wasn't for the serious look on his face, L'Arachel could have sworn she witness a sheepish glint in his azure eyes.

"I'll tell you later but you'll probably kill me for it," he admitted, imagining all the dramatics the Rausten princess would make of his snooping, "And I know this will seem like a complete shock to you but I also am aware of your condition. I want to protect you and your child from any libels or stigmas the world may place on the baby. I will take care of both of you and I'm will be certain that you won't have to want for nothing."

For a moment, L'Arachel was struck speechless. She understood Ephraim was a noble, valorous man who definitely would become a fine king some day, but sacrifice so much for her when he knew her heart belong to someone else. How could he be simply all right with all that?

"But Ephraim," she choked out, a whirling, perplexing mass of emotions brewing madly inside of her, "What about you? Why are you throwing all your chances for love?"

The Renais prince smiled at her plaintively, his Copenhagen blue eyes faintly displaying a morose, mournful glow. "Because I can't have the woman I love."

* * *

With a flick of his wrist, he stabbed one soldier in the face with point of his lance while choking the other man behind him by slamming the end of his pike into his esophagus. The second soldier went down in an instant, gasping and hacking for more oxygen, viciously clawing at the air while Forde finished off the other paladin. To him, all he beheld were the faces of Franz dying and Orson looking grievously sorry but resolved to win. Any random Grado paladin suddenly became Orson and blood on their armor was now Franz's. He couldn't stop himself from erupting into a truculent rage and butcher every paladin that crossed his sights; he was reliving Franz's death all over again. And even though Olivia pulled from the worst of his grief, the memory still haunted him.

He was lost. Hopelessly, irrevocably lost.

Howling with fury at his own tormented soul, Forde stabbed the lance into the corpse's mangled body, yanking it out again only to ferociously impale the carcass once more with his pike. He could barely control himself, his hands were shaking so violently that Forde was half-afraid he was going insane yet other side of him reveled in that notion. At least he would be spared the recollection of Franz dying right in front of him.

"Franz…I'm so sorry," he whispered, hanging his head as he ruthlessly pierced the deceased paladin again and again, "I should have protected you, I should have been the one who died, not you."

"Your brother wouldn't want you to be thinking like that, Forde."

Lance in hand, arm frozen in mid-air, the said great knight slowly turned around to face the stubborn young cousin of Valter the Moonstone. When he had managed to reach the status of a great knight about a week ago after successfully completely his training as a cavalier, she had been there to witness his promotion. Some thought it strange that he decided to become a great knight but Forde always thought that class suited him better than a paladin. Kyle and Franz would have made better paladins than him anyway.

"He shouldn't have died before me, Olivia," Forde rasped out hoarsely, singeing her with a fulminating, menacing glower, "I was the older brother, I should have watched over him and taken the hit for him!"

"You wouldn't have gotten to him in time, no one could unless they were right next to him," Olivia answered in a soft voice, approaching Forde slowly as if she was assaying to calm a wounded beast, "Forde, I told you once, you have to stop beating yourself over his death. You didn't drive a lance into his chest–Orson did and he's dead now. I can comprehend that the pain may never go away, you'll always think of Franz but also remember this: he would have wanted you to be _happy_, Forde, and not punish yourself for what betided to him."

She took his face into her hands, her crystal azure eyes blazing so lovingly for him that Forde lost all his ire completely and promptly forgot any furious words he was prepared to lash out at her with. Her countenance seemed so downcast, so miserable for him and his inner torment that Forde abruptly realized that by hurting himself for what happened to his baby brother, he was also unintentionally hurting Olivia as well. Watching him beat himself up internally when no one was looking tore her apart as she desperately yet tenaciously attempted over and over to reach out and bring him back into the world of the living and the free. She was trying to bring him back to who he was. Forde, the Crimson Shield, knight of Renais.

"I know," he whispered, his voice cracking as he hesitantly placed a hand over her soft, smaller one, "But how can I?"

"You can start by forgiving yourself, Forde," she answered swiftly, staring deep into his eyes. Her tone was lucid but pleading, beseeching him to sever the weights that bore him down into his misery and self-loathing and finally be free of the past.

"I can't," he choked out, his emotions getting the better of him while a shroud of sorrow hovered over him, amplifying his grief tenfold. Olivia shook her head fiercely.

"Yes, you can! I believe in you, Forde. You can do this." she told him with such force and vehemence that Forde nearly blinked, witnessing an echo of Valter's relentlessness first-handedly in Olivia. "Don't you dare contemplate on giving up on yourself, I won't stand for it! Why, I'll—"

She never got to finish her sentence for Forde's mouth ardently clammed down on her own, the caress of his chapped lips dry, seeking, but tender. She could feel the despair, the longing trapped in his kiss, and as Forde pulled her into him so their bodies were crushed up against each other in a clumsy but endearing fashion, Olivia sensed that Forde was silently asking her to help him. He wasn't pushing her back, he was accepting her support.

"Fix me, Olivia," he rasped into her ear as they withdrew from each other, "I can't do this alone." She offered him a shaky but reassuring smile as she snuggled close to him in his embrace.

"You'll never be alone, Forde. I promise."

* * *

Once more, the Grado army was defeated and the leader of such an onset was none other than the remaining Grado general, Riev the Blood Beryl. The blood in both Zecilys's and L'Arachel's veins boiled with such frenzy that L'Arachel nearly broke her staff in two after gripping into so tightly while Zecilys caused her hands to bleed after clenching her fists so hard that her entire hands became whiter than death. The man who ruined Irthos's life and the lives of others was within their reach and next time, he wouldn't get away so easily.

When the hullabaloo had died down, L'Arachel went to retrieve her nation's sacred stone. After all, it was their only weapon against the Demon King and only possible way to imprison his soul. Myrrh, the young dragon girl, then timidly spoke up and claimed the way to find the Demon King and his fellow creatures was to head to the Darkling Woods. The poison of his malevolence and demonic potency was growing stronger, it was spreading, as she explained.

So, the decision was decided then. After stocking up on supplies and weapons, they would venture forward to Darkling Woods and battle any sort of ghastly monster or abomination that dared to crawl or slink on the face of Magvel.

And then end the Demon King's reign of terror once and for all.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Nigrine- black

Murrey- purplish black

Another chapter finished and down. Only three more to go, folks! Next chapter will deal with the battle in the Darkling Woods and chapter twenty-four will have the final fight. Or, depending what goes on in both chapters and how long they are, I just might smash them together and have this story end with twenty-four chapters instead. But of course, the very last chapter is the epilogue.

I hoped you all enjoyed this latest update! I appreciate any feedback, they make my day.

Adieu!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	23. Twenty three: The Battle to the End

**Wild Justice**

**Twenty-three: **The Battle to the End

**Summary:** AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**A/N: **I forgot to state this earlier but by now Zecilys has evolved classes and is now a wyvern knight. And some lines for the TSS script will also be used—mainly for the Lyon and some of Demon King fight scenes.

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not rolling on heaps of money. Therefore, FE: TSS could not be mine. **

* * *

_When the hullabaloo had died down, L'Arachel went to retrieve her nation's sacred stone. After all, it was their only weapon against the Demon King and only possible way to imprison his soul. Myrrh, the young dragon girl, then timidly spoke up and claimed the way to find the Demon King and his fellow creatures was to head to the Darkling Woods. The poison of his malevolence and demonic potency was growing stronger, it was spreading, as she explained. _

_So, the decision was decided then. After stocking up on supplies and weapons, they would venture forward to Darkling Woods and battle any sort of ghastly monster or abomination that dared to crawl or slink on the face of Magvel. _

_And then end the Demon King's reign of terror once and for all. _

* * *

"To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!

Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation: To this point I stand,-

That both the worlds I give negligence,

Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd."

**-William Shakespeare**

* * *

"The millstones of the gods grind slowly, but it grinds to dust."**-Anonymous**

* * *

"No more tears now; I will think about revenge."**-Mary, Queen of Scots**

* * *

Monsters seemed to pour out endlessly from the Darkling Woods, crawling down the sides of mountains or popping out of every thicket or brush nearby. Everywhere Zecilys turned there were more monsters slinking out of the shadows, glacial, beady eyes vacant and ravenous. An elder bael scattered towards Zecilys and with an eerie, chilling war cry, Zecilys thrust her lance forward, impaling the gargantuan spider squarely in the eyes. The creature let loose a strident, ear-splitting shriek, its hairy vermillion legs clawing mindlessly at the lance. Snarling, she twisted her weapon around, driving into further into the monster's head until the tip of her lance penetrated through the elder bael's skull and was poking out from the other end. The nightmarish spider shuddered briefly ere to collapsing the ground, Zecilys mystical lance blooding its face.

Yanking her lance, _Morgenstern_, out of the furry carcass, the female paused any for a few moments to inspect the beautifully carved words and runes on her lance. After Irthos's death, she had managed to persuade Valter to take a quick detour to the ruins of her former home to bury Irthos and retrieve the remaining relic that her family had left behind. Supposedly, there was a lance that she had to wield and once she unlocked her door, she finally was acquainted with her special lance, _Morgenstern._

Her lance had been specifically designed to battle monsters of the Demon King but the reason why her father wrought such relics for her and her two siblings was beyond Zecilys. He might have feared the worse and wanted to arm his children as much as possible in case such a powerful, inhuman malevolence struck Magvel again.

Directing Eroniz back into the thick of battle, Zecilys rejoined Valter and the rest of the party. She smiled softly at the sight of viewing the ring _Gotts Glück_ adorned on Valter's hand as he flawlessly slaughtered two deathgoyles with breaking a sweat. Even though he didn't need much luck on the battlefield, Zecilys stilled wanted him to have the ring. After all, who else was she to give the trinket to that she knew her older sister Alcyone would approve of?

"Valter!" she called out, flying to him, "Is Riev in sight?" He nodded firmly.

"Yes, but unfortunately, he's not alone. Apparently, he has this zombie dragon at his side to guard the temple." The Moonstone licked his lips with anticipation. "What a delightful challenge that will be."

Zecilys smirked at his words. "Just don't go overboard, Valter. I'd like to have you back in one piece." The wyvern knight rolled his eyes.

"Please, Zecilys. As if I'll be taken down by one measly dragon."

Together, they darted near the temple were the rest of Ephraim's troupe was already finishing off the remaining monsters and had already attacked the dragon. Zecilys meet up with L'Arachel soon after and their eyes crossed each other for a second but that was long enough to exchange the message.

The time had come for them to defeat Riev once and for all and avenge Irthos and her family's deaths. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Riev was the main player who orchestrated the Melkbane Massacre by appealing to their two enemy houses and granting them amnesty once the Demon King achieves his ultimate power and sovereigns over Magvel. By ridding himself of the Melkbane House, Riev wouldn't have to worry about anyone discovering what he did to his pupil, Irthos.

"I see him!" cried L'Arachel fiercely, chartreuse orbs rife with fury as she urged her albicant horse onward. Zecilys rapidly followed her, lance poised for the first strike. But when the gaunt, decrepit priest came into full view, L'Arachel was the one who made the first assault. A Divine tome in one hand, she quickly muttered the incantation and shot a burst of blinding, luminous rays at the unsuspecting Riev, who was caught off guard by this sudden attack. But he quickly recovered and sent his own brand of light magic back at L'Arachel and Zecilys.

"Look what we have here," he sneered, onyx beady eyes bulging with suppressed rage, "Valter's little pet and Rausten's beloved princess. How fitting for my revenge against Rasuten since I will kill two fine Rausten women today."

"In your dreams," snorted Zecilys, brandishing Morgenstern, "We won't be defeated by a wretch like you." She then pressed her knees against Eroniz sides and he took the hint instantly. The olive wyvern darted forward, speeding towards Riev while Zecilys jutted her lance up, ready to pierce his flesh. Riev dodged her first assailment but was caught in L'Arachel's bombardment of light magic. Snarling, the archaic man waved his staff around and retaliated by releasing an explosion of Divine, tumultuously striking both L'Arachel and Zecilys head-on.

Zecilys was blown several feet into the air while L'Arachel nearly fell off her horse as she struggled to calm her steed down. Riev sent another vortex of light sorcery in her direction but luckily, in the nick of time, she was able to gain control of her horse and elude the deadly attack. While Riev had been preoccupied with L'Arachel, Zecilys and Eroniz managed to recover from the initial Divine onset and crept on the Blood Beryl when his back was turned. Raising her arm high, Zecilys thrust Morgenstern forward and skewed the corrupt priest in the shoulder just as he was turning around to face her. The man let loose a shrill cry of detriment and stumbled away from the turquoise-haired wyvern knight just as she yanked her lance out of him.

"You little trollop!" he roared, flipping through the pages of his tome, "Just wait, once I'm finish with you your corpse will be nothing but a contorted mass of scorched, oozing flesh!" His lips moved furiously, hurtling minor Divine spells at Zecilys and L'Arachel to keep them both at bay. To prevent him from unleashing an even more dangerous magic on them, Zecilys grabbed a fallen javelin from the ground and hurled the weapon straight at the Blood Beryl. It scraped his back, tearing another scream from his lips and out gushed a tiny waterfall of blood from the wound. Eroniz has to roll his rider out of harm's way to avoid getting hit by a perpetual assailment of light magic.

"L'Arachel!" hollered Zecilys, cupping her hands over her mouth, "You need to use the tome your uncle gave you! Use—!" Her words were cut off due to another volley of Divine attacks and Eroniz responded to this by attempting to bite at Riev, sending the priest scurrying ere he aimed next assault at both females again. Eroniz quickly flew out a reach to give Zecilys some time to take a breather and a vulnerary. Yet perched in the sky, Zecilys could behold even at distance L'Arachel conjuring up from her sachet the brilliant, vivid tome of Ivaldi while Riev sent a few more magical attacks her way.

_Excellent…she'll defeat Riev for certain with that! But first, I have to distract him or else she won't be able to catch him by surprise again._

As if sensing his mistress's idea, Eroniz already launched forward and was heading towards the last Grado general, jaws open wide and tail thrashing around in a parlous rhythm. Zecilys leveled her lance at Riev, who merely smirked at her course of action as he quickly chanted up another Divine spell.

"You must be really eager to die. Do you want to see your family that bad?" he jeered, a swirling, pale gold orb beginning to form in his hand. Zecilys grit her teeth.

"Not today, Riev. You'll be the one dies here and pay for all the blood you shed–and that includes my family!" she roared furiously, swinging her lance around, aiming for his head. He ducked but not fast enough to avoid being nicked across the neck. Grimacing in pain, he cut Zecilys an ugly glower before muttering the final words to release his Divine magic. But his focus was jarred by a confident, dramatic voice.

"Riev, you sanctimonious knave! Betrayer of the light and all that's pure and good!"

Although grateful for the valkyrie's successful attempt to distract the Blood Beryl so she could fly straight out of range, Zecilys seriously wanted to bang her lance against her head. Really, did she have to continue the theatrics even _now_?

"What is it, Princess L'Arachel?" Riev asked snippily, a mocking lilt in his tone when he called her by her title, "Care to say your final words before I efface you from this world?"

He missed the proud smirk on the young woman's face. "True goodness always prevails over evil! This is your judgment!" she declared and with that said, unleashed an astronomical, colossal beam of shimmering, blazing illumination of jasmine, ginger root, cream, and milk white. The flaring, scalding rays beamed straightly at Riev with no warning, smiting him perpetually at all angles. Zecilys had to shield her eyes from the dangerous level of luminosity with her hand and closed her eyes. The horrific, agonizing screams of the former Rausten priest being pummeled incessantly by Ivaldi was enough for Zecilys to know he was suffering for all his crimes against her brother and the Melkbane House.

When the lustrous, sacred glow of Ivaldi faded, she and L'Arachel were staring at the smoldering, charred, and oozing remains of Riev, the Blood Beryl. All he resembled now was a pile of gross, repugnant contorted flesh.

"So that's it then," Zecilys breathed out as L'Arachel rode up beside her once Eroniz had landed, "One more obstacle out of the way."

"Yes." L'Arachel nodded, her fair complexion set in a resolute structure. "Most of the party is inside of the Black Temple, fighting more of those monstrosities, no doubt! We must come to their aid with all haste!" She kicked the sides of her steed and galloped towards the entrance of the Black Temple, past the rotting corpse of the zombie dragon that had been defeated previously. This moment would have been a perfect opportunity to disclose to Zecilys of her covert betrothal to Prince Ephraim but even though she was dying to tell someone (that someone being of the same sex with a similar mind to hers) L'Arachel knew she would be betraying Ephraim's trust if she told anyone about the troth. What if Zecilys was the woman Ephraim was referring to that he couldn't have? After all, they had known each other before and were travelling together before she had been captured by Grado men. She had to be discreet; neither she nor Ephraim wanted the group's concentration be derailed by anything, even if the announcement was joyous. All they had to focus on was vanquishing the Demon King once and for all and saving Magvel from eternal darkness and despair.

* * *

There were more monsters and atrocities inside the Black Temple than there were outside. Ephraim made this painful discovery as soon as he rushed into archaic, embellished building and beheld all the creatures ready to pounce on the first human being they saw. He battled his way through them all, keeping an eye out for those in his party for anyone in potential danger or needed his help. He always jumped to chance in fighting along with Zecilys but then Valter would suddenly swoop in and then finish the task easily. He and the Moonstone were still at odds with each other–Ephraim hardly doubt they would be coming to terms with one another any time soon. Perhaps it was his own selfish impulse that he believed Zecilys deserved better and Valter wasn't his idea of "better".

But he couldn't dwell on that for long. He had made up his mind and would marry L'Arachel as soon this crisis was over and he defeated Lyon. The announcement of their betrothal would be manifested and everyone then would finally be able to celebrate. Zecilys would be happy for him, he reckoned, that he had finally found someone but then again, would she truly believe that his and L'Arachel's marriage would be on based on love? After all, she knew about the baby and might have her suspicions—

His train of thought was soon derailed as a blast of dark magic came his way and it was only till then he remembered Lyon and only he had to be the one to battle him. As Lyon's friend, it was his duty.

"Be careful, Ephraim," came the faint whisper of Zecilys and others near her echoed the same line as he rushed over to the doomed prince and slashed his lance at him. Lyon smiled sadly at him, as if he had been expecting this final fight all along.

"Tell me, Ephraim," he began slowly, circling Ephraim like a predator circles its prey, "Do I look like I've grown stronger? The last time we dueled, I was too weak to test you. Why, I was so weak, I even lost to Eirika..." He shot another orb of dark sorcery at the Renais prince but he easily rolled out of harm's way.

"I've sacrificed the lives of many good people. I've committed many unforgivable sins. The caring heart I once possessed died long ago... And I've grown stronger because of it. I've grown strong enough to defeat even you, Ephraim." As Ephraim looked up, his gazed locked onto to Lyon's grey eyes and for a fleeting second, caught a demonic sheen in them. The Demon King was behind that veneer of skin, playing his childhood companion like a fool by feigning that he, Lyon, was in control when in reality, it was the Demon King pulling all the strings.

"...No, you haven't. You're still no match for me. You were never one for combat. It's not in you. You should never have chosen this path." Ephraim responded lowly, his voice hardening with resolution. Lyon even had the audacity to smirk humorously at his statement. The Renais prince gritted his teeth, despising the Demon King now more than ever for stealing his best comrade away from him. "...Here I come, Lyon."

Gripping Seigmund tighter than ever, Ephraim rose from his knees and charged forward, thrusting the blessed lance forward. Lyon spun out of reach but Ephraim butted him in the chest with the end of his weapon. Whirling around, the young teal-haired man leveled Seigmund dangerously at his possessed friend, a deadly serene aura settling over him. Lyon delivered multiple assailments of his arcane, powerful magic and Ephraim attempted to dodge them all while whipping his land around to strike the necromancer. Both men were soon littered with wounds. Bleeding gashes and deep cuts covered Lyon's face, robs, and body whereas Ephraim supported patches of burnt dark magic, a scorched odor surrounded him. Even though he didn't show it, Ephraim could sense that Lyon was weakening and at any moment, he would drop his guard, giving him a perfect opportunity to attack.

Panting, Lyon's eyebrows knit themselves together and after a swift chant, unleashed a whirling spiral of darkness, followed by a vortex of atrous and deep violet. The nasty spell spun straight towards Ephraim and he barely had a split-second to dodge it. Just when he was about brace himself for the worse, he felt himself being plucked up by his collar. Opening his eyes, he was stunned to see him hovering over the wreckage Lyon's latest assault and his friend's incredulous, almost enraged visage. He turned around to see who had rescued him and was practically even more shocked to see who it was.

His savior was Valter.

"Valter?" Ephraim exclaimed with disbelief, blinking at the sight of the imposing, ebony and navy-blue haired man. He uttered nothing, just simply had his mount circle around Lyon before depositing the Renais prince nearby.

"Just kill him already, will you? If you don't, I will." He then flew off, smashing the tip of his spear into an entombed's skull as he went to rejoin the others in more monster slaying.

Silently thanking for Valter for his noble deed (though what prompt such a valorous act on his part Ephraim had no idea but he wasn't going to complain just now), Ephraim twirled his lance around, tip pointing in the front and lunged off of the crumbling terrace and tackled the bewildered Lyon (who only noticed Ephraim's sudden appearance too late) to the ground.

"No!" screamed Lyon, terror splashed on his face, "This can't be!"

Unimaginably grief and pain surged through Ephraim as he brought his lance clean through the regal necromancer, earning a strangled gasp from the Grado prince. A small, thin tear trickled down his cheek as Ephraim forced himself to watch the life drift away from his dear companion as he held him in his arms. Blood slithered sluggishly out of the corner of Lyon's mouth as he started to talk again.

"I guess that proves it. You're too strong, Ephraim. I've always...admired..." A terrible hacking fit disrupted his words, sending more droplets of blood splattering against the ground and at Ephraim's grimy, disheveled state.

"Lyon!" he cried out, panic in his tone as he sorrowfully stared at his slowly dying comrade. He tried to stop him from speaking but the young necromancer simply shook his head and resumed his final speech.

"You know, Ephraim...I always wanted to be you. I wanted to be strong and handsome...With Eirika always at my side...That's what I wanted to be. I had...I had nothing..."

More tears clouded the Renais prince's vision but he willed them back. Now wasn't the time for crying. "Don't be ridiculous, Lyon," Ephraim scolded lightly, doing his utmost best to keep his timbre steady and strong, "Who was it that taught me history? Who covered for me when I stumbled? Didn't you see how I looked up to you? I admired your compassion, your wisdom, your thoughtfulness..."

Lyon blinked owlishly, as if this was first time he was hearing that. "Oh, yeah...that seems so long ago… I did keep you out of trouble, didn't I? Thanks for remembering. See? You're thoughtful, too…" He exhaled deeply, coughing even more truculently than he did before. More blood spewed out, soaking Ephraim in the face but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him at the moment save for the expiring Grado prince.

"Lyon..." he whispered plaintively yet panic soon took a hold of him the second he saw Lyon beginning to close his eyes. "Wait! Don't close your eyes! I'm going to save you! I'll find a way! I..." There had to be a way, maybe Zecilys and the others were wrong. Maybe they could use the last sacred stone to extract the soul of the Demon King out of Lyon and one of the healers could cure his wound and—

"No, don't..." Lyon replied feebly, a wan but somewhat blissful emotion creeping on his pale, sweaty countenance, "Thanks, anyway. It was all my fault... Don't look so sad. C'mon, Ephraim, smile. Like you used to..." Finally, the young prince closed his eyes, releasing his final breath as his soul was snatched away from this world. Ephraim lowered his head, sorrow consuming every inch of it as he felt the warmth leave his comrade.

"Lyon…" he whispered, praying peace for the young Grado prince who only wanted to save his people. That would have been the end of it if suddenly, right before his very eyes, Lyon's body warped out of his arms.

"What? This…" The Renais prince as at a lost for words as he watched Lyon's body slowly disintegrate on top of what appeared to be ancient ritual chamber. No, this couldn't be happening! He defeated Lyon; he had stopped the Demon King from achieving his goal! It was over, the madness had to be over now!

"**The time has come...my resurrection is at hand..."** boomed a malevolent, satanic voice that chilled everyone's bones. The creature's oppressing baritone seemed to suffocate them, zapping them of all their strength and willpower as the mere aura of his potency seemed to practically crush them down to the ruined, desecrated ground.

The baleful, sickening laughter continued.

"**Heh heh...heh heh heh...Well done, Lyon. The sacrifice of your flesh and the sum of your efforts... They were all for naught. Grado's disaster cannot be averted. ****My resurrection is at hand. All this time, you imagined yourself in possession of your own free will, but it was I who planted the seed from which your ambitions grew. My deceit made you my puppet, and oh, how you danced at the end of my strings. You could never have been saved. It's a shame, isn't it, Lyon? And now I... I am reborn." **

Then, the source of all their trouble, the very root of evil, emerged from the shadows. The Demon King rose to his full height, his formidable, grotesque physique naturally intimidating and powerful. Horns of all shapes and sizes protruded out of his head with glowing, yellow eyes reminded Ephraim of the fires of Hell. Everything about his body was massive. His long arms were gigantic, his thick legs enormous, and his wings covered at least half of the chamber when reaching their full wingspan. His skin was a deep, harsh burgundy but dusky smudges littered his form. Gruesome, razor-sharp claws came out of his fingers and he flashed the daring but nervous band of warriors his unnerving set of deadly, honed canines. Demonic might and sorcery simply oozed out of him, he was the very epitome of evil.

To Ephraim, the subsequently events went by so quickly, they were almost a blur to him. After restoring confidence and strength into the hearts of himself and everyone, they proceeded to trap the Demon King's soul into Rausten's sacred stone and the flagrant fiend certainly did put up a struggle. But now, all they had to do next is destroy his soulless body, eliminating any more chances for the demon to return for good.

Magic, lances, swords, arrows, and axes all struck at the Demon King's body and inside the remaining sacred stone, they could hear him howling with unearthly rage and contempt. Many lives were nearly lost for the soulless form of the demon could still fight back. Seth had taken a grievous wound and his horse was crippled in the process. His sister Eirika had been knocked unconscious and Innes ended up twisting his ankle as he rushed to protect her from another impending fiery assailment by the Demon King. Ewan was badly burned and together, Lute and Artur defended him fiercely as they helped him recover and get to safety. Caellach, Selena, Valter, and Zecilys teamed up together and very soon, they were joined by Duessel, Knoll, Amelia, Cormag, and Tana, attacking the great fiend from the air and the ground. Ephraim aided Forde and Olivia while the crimson clad great knight rushed the female rogue to safety, her left arm bleeding on the horse and the floor profusely. And many more of the members soon followed. Moulder, Natasha, L'Arachel, Saleh, and the rest of the healers were busy between firing their magic and healing the severely injured.

Eventually, they wore the despicable beast down and Ephraim sensed it was time for him to deliver the coup de grace. He must be the one to smite the fiend with the final blow, he'd do it in Lyon's memory.

A battle yell resonating from his throat, Ephraim rushed furiously towards the Demon King, the lance Seigmund pointed straight at a critical point. Just when he was about to pulled him arm back and bring it forward, a low, deep voice reverberated inside his mind, halting his actions instantly.

"**Ephraim…I wouldn't do that if I were you."** The tone was strangled but clear and sharp as ever.

Snarling, Ephraim tried to ignore his voice, banish the Demon King out of his head so he could finish what they started. He could hear the creature chuckle amusingly and then added, **"If you listen to me, I could strike a deal with you."**

"I don't want any bargains! You're a liar, you manipulate others to do your bidding." spat Ephraim, eyes ablaze, "I won't listen anymore to your venom." He made a move to lunge forward but found himself rooted to the ground. He looked wildly around him, realizing in that moment that everyone was frozen, still and silent. It was as if time at came to a grinding halt.

"**I didn't want anyone interrupting our little chat so I used some of my remaining power to freeze time for a bit," **explained the Demon King casually and Ephraim could feel the fiend smirking, **"But I'll cut to the chase."**

"What are you proposing?" Ephraim asked, clearly not desiring to hear any of the Demon King's words. He knew he was trying to stall for time and the Renais prince was resolved not to let him get away with his slimy tricks.

"**Ephraim, I can give you back everything. Your father…your friend Lyon, everyone else you have lost and loved. Why, I can even reunite L'Arachel with her lover, Irthos."**

A lump forming in his throat, Ephraim turned to stare at the unmoving L'Arachel. "But you can't do that…you can't raise the dead. I've seen them, they're nothing more than puppets!"

Another sinister, mirthful boomed out from the Demon King. **"That was done by either Lyon or Riev. They are only mortals; they cannot harness the power that I possess. I am the only one who can restore life back into the decease. And that's not all I do for you, Prince Ephraim. You'll be Renais's king but what about her queen?"**

Automatically, Ephraim felt his head pivoting towards Zecilys, his eyes, his mind, his body drawn to her. Even frozen as a statue, with soot, grim, and blood on her face and clothes, she still was a sight of loveliness to him. Determination and faith sparkled in her golden eyes and a warm, fervid glow spread inside of his body. "What do you mean?" he rasped, unable to slight the Demon King this time.

Regalement rang in the Demon King's voice. **"What I mean is I can make Zecilys yours, Ephraim. She belonged to you before Valter came along." **Ephraim shifted his gaze to Valter, who was right at Zecilys's side. His heart gave a hopeful tug forward. Was it possible? If there had been no Valter, would he be with Zecilys instead?

The Demon King must have read his mind for he continued his speech. **"Imagine it, Ephraim. Zecilys, the only woman you ever had the eyes for, becomes your queen and sits at your side while you rule over Renais with peace and prosperity. Everything will be the way it once was…" **

Suddenly, Ephraim found himself no longer at the Black Temple but in a meadow near Renais Castle. He knew this place, he and Eirika used to play here when they were younger. Zecilys was also in meadow, her long, wavy turquoise tresses flowing playfully in the breeze while her silver dress billowed out from behind her. Yet she wasn't alone. Four young children accompanied her, three girls and one boy and they all crowded around him, kissing and embracing him. Stunned, all Ephraim could do was lift his hand up and cup the Zecilys mirage's cheek. Her face was warm and palpable; she didn't filter through his fingers like a morning mist or sand.

"**You see?"** whispered the Demon King inside his head, **"Look what you can have if Zecilys becomes your bride. Everything I told you can be done. You just have to trust me."**

_Trust…_

"No," Ephraim said suddenly, backing away from the illusion, "I cannot. You promise me such gifts but I know you'll destroy everything I hold dear if I agree to bargain with you. You're a scheming liar and you care about nothing save for yourself." This must be how the Demon King tempted Lyon, promising to revive his father, save Grado from a natural disaster, and win his sister's heart. And all the images…they were too real.

"**NO!"** screamed the Demon King, his voice waning, **"You're wrong! I can make you king of all Magvel! The whole world will bow at your and Zecilys's feet! She can be all yours, I—"**

The Demon King never had time to finish his sentence. His power vanishing, time was no longer frozen and the Renais prince was free to move. He ignored the outraged, feeble hollers of the fiend as he rushed up to the Demon King's corpse and slammed Seigmund deep into his stomach, twisting the mythical lance upward as it penetrate through the tough, thick skin and the internal organs. Ephraim heard the faint yell of ire and anguish resonating from the Demon King as his soulless body crumbled and shriveled away into dust. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ephraim sank down to his knees, a half-smile of grim satisfaction flickering across his perspiring, bloody visage.

At last, the final batter was over.

* * *

Color Glossary:

Albicant- white

Atrous- black

So the final onslaught is complete. All we have left now is the epilogue, which will take place many years later. Most of the pairings will come into the light now, especially some of the more subtle ones.

We're almost there! One more chapter to go and it's the end! Adieu!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


	24. Epilogue: Oh, How Things Change

**Wild Justice  
**

**Summary:** AU Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? [ValterxOCxEphraim]

**Epilogue: **Oh, How Things Change

Text:

"Speech"

_Thoughts_

_**Flashbacks/Lyrics**_

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't own a single bloody entity of TSS. There you go—I told you so. **

* * *

_The Demon King never had time to finish his sentence. His power vanishing, time was no longer frozen and the Renais prince was free to move. He ignored the outraged, feeble hollers of the fiend as he rushed up to the Demon King's corpse and slammed Seigmund deep into his stomach, twisting the mythical lance upward as it penetrate through the tough, thick skin and the internal organs. Ephraim heard the faint yell of ire and anguish resonating from the Demon King as his soulless body crumbled and shriveled away into dust. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ephraim sank down to his knees, a half-smile of grim satisfaction flickering across his perspiring, bloody visage._

_At last, the final batter was over._

* * *

"That which does not destroy us makes us stronger."**-Nietzsche**

* * *

"I believe that justice is instinct and innate; the moral sense is as much a part of constitution as the threat of feeling, seeing, and hearing."**-Thomas Jefferson**

* * *

So many years have come and gone by so quickly that Zecilys sometimes wondered where the time went.

Right after the war and the Demon King's defeat, Ephraim not only threw himself in rebuilding Renais, but he extended his support to Grado's recovery as well. General Duessel was crowned the new Emperor by Ephraim–now a king–and the Imperial Six was altered a bit. Three of the original kept their status: Selena, Valter, (and much to everyone's surprise, Caellach). But Duessel had accepted her, Amelia, and Knoll as the new three general of the Imperial Six. Her title was "the Bloodstone" (she wondered if he purposely gave her that since it was quite close to Valter's nickname), Amelia became "the Ammolite", and her future fiancé, Knoll, was commonly known more as "Knoll Hematite". Cormag would have reached a general rank but he moved to Frelia to begin his courtship with the Princess Tana. The pair had fallen in love during their campaign against the Demon King and the young, palomino wyvern lord refused to lose the chance of being with her for all eternity. Now, he had a new challenge to face: earning acceptance from her older brother Innes.

However, Zecilys heard of Cormag and Tana's betrothal a week after she had her first child, Irthos. Irthos's resemblance of his late grandfather, Lord Hayden, was quite uncanny. Golden eyes, short but wavy turquoise locks, refined but proud, firm features, Irthos began to show his parents at a tender young age that he too had been gifted with a talent for the lance. He and Bliss, L'Arachel and Ephraim's daughter, were tight friends. Much to relief of those who knew the secret of Bliss's real father, the baby girl was born with L'Arachel's eyes and Irthos's hair. Luckily, Ephraim's mother had navy blue hair (that was how Eirika supposedly got her lighter azure tresses from) so any rumors of Bliss not being Ephraim's own daughter were eventually silenced.

When Irthos was only two-years-old, his baby sister, Belinda, arrived. She too had her brother's hair but wasn't as pale as he was and had Valter's bottomless, blazing onyx eyes. And like her father, she had a beastly temper.

And then arrived Iah, three years later while Irthos was five and Belinda was three. Even as a babe, he was a spitting image of Valter, sable and navy blue hair, dusky eyes, and pale skin. Their youngest and final child, Sven, shared the exact same traits only his skin had a more peach tint and Zecilys declared that "he had her nose".

So much had transpired after she and Valter had wedded and welcomed four beautiful children into the world. Selena and Caellach married a few months after them and had two children and would be expecting another one in the fall. Forde, who left Renais to be closer to Olivia, managed to muster up enough courage to first tell Valter of his plan to propose to Olivia before he later popped the question to the roseate-haired rogue. Her enthusiasm was practically breathtaking; she couldn't stop smiling for days after accepting his proposal.

Now, she and Forde continue to live in the Outterridge manor, the co-leaders of the estates. Many suspected the rule would fall on Valter's shoulders but he quickly made sure his fiery cousin and her soon-to-be husband would receive the reigns of leadership instead. After all, Valter had no interest in politics or the noble life; he was quite content with his general rank.

Thirteen years had passed and now, Irthos was thirteen, Belinda was eleven, Iah was eight, and young Sven was approaching his sixth year. They were all loved by their hot-tempered, eccentric, but caring and lovable Aunt Olivia and her carefree, frisky but devoted husband, Uncle Forde. The children also adored Queen L'Arachel, who would shower them with gifts (and strange but somehow helpful advice regarding justice, goodness, and so forth) whenever they sojourned or were invited to the Renais Castle. When that happened, Bliss and Irthos immediately took off to go on wild, amazing adventures, normally with Belinda tailing behind them, asking if she could join them on their expeditions.

Zecilys had to admit, at first, she was shocked when she heard that L'Arachel would be marrying Ephraim. She knew how much the yellow chartreuse-haired valkyrie still loved her brother, Irthos, and wondered the reason why Ephraim offered himself to L'Arachel was because she was with Valter now and no longer loved him. It saddened her to ponder such two people like Ephraim and L'Arachel, would never have the chance to wed for love. But she reckoned they would be wonderful parents to her niece and that alone could bring forth love (although maybe not romantic love) into their marriage.

L'Arachel always kept Zecilys up to date with news, such as how the twin girls of King Joshua and Queen Natasha, Tesni and Felicitas, were a bundle of energy–as always–and the most adorable little girls one had ever seen. She then claimed that Eirika and Innes's son, Idwal, was just as egotistical, pretentious, and haughty as his father was and said Idwal deserved to have been punched in the nose by Belinda, who had overheard him insulting Valter. But L'Arachel only vented all those claims when it was just her and Zecilys and no servants were around who might hear her fiery, boisterous exclamations. After all, rumors and idle talk could spread like wildfire.

All these memories flooded through Zecilys as she snuggled back into bed with her husband, the notorious Moonstone whose lust for blood and war affrighted even the most courageous of men. Yet the demon in him had been vanquished by the will and love of a plucky, sharp-tongued young woman who saw through his mask and penetrated his thick armor and clasped her hand around his heart, changing him utterly, but for the better.

"Good-night, love," she whispered, resting her head on the pillow as her exhausted eyes fluttered shut. She felt the tender, fervent brush of Valter's lips grazing across her brow.

"And good-night to you too, my comely wench."

Zecilys chuckled at the endearing tone in his words, a smile on her face as she succumbed to sleep. She got her happy ending after all.

**THE END**

* * *

So that's the end, kiddies (FINALLY!). After four years of working on this puppy, I am, at last, done. So bring out the vodka and rum, everyone! It's time to party!

Before you leave and read some other fanfics, I have a few things to say. First off, I would like to thank everyone who had read this story and stuck with me till the end. And secondly, it's time for me to do a final round of applause to those who reviewed _**Wild Justice:**_ MeowSap, Emblem, Kagetaka, DraculasLover, Riyu21, Caellach Tiger Eye, Wayra, Knives91, The ASPCA Pwned Me, AeonFrodo, Fireemblemsnumber1fan, Lucky-erin47, Oriel Kurosaki, Aquatic-Idealist, ashelia-chan, Sivynia, chayaa-chan, jordan114725, batSkull22, , ookawa, and Blackmasked Angel.

And last but not least, I had a reason for naming some of the kids. Valter and Zecilys's first child, Irthos, is after the memory of her brother (you all probably figured that out). Belinda's meaning isn't really clear, but it sort of can be the combination of "serpent, dragon" and "soft, tender". Both Belinda's parents are wyvern riders so hence the dragon part of the name. Iah means "moon" (in honor of his father, Valter the Moonstone), and Sven just means "boy". Plus, Sven is just an awesome name.

I got the name Bliss from the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche and plus, Irthos had a reasoning for wanting his daughter to be called that. Anyway, the Jehanna twins have meaningful names too. Tensi is "warmth from the sun" (they live in a desert country) while Felicitas manes "good luck, fortune" (because we all know how much Joshua needs luck). Even Innes's son, Idwal, has a meaning. Idwal means "lord of the wall"—I felt like Innes would give his son a name that would have some royal-esque, powerful meaning behind it.

All right, enough of my jabbering. I would love it if you reviewed one final time for this story because I'll be off focusing on my Underworld story, _**Ace in the Hole, **_while working on many oneshots along the way. But don't worry, I'll be back into the Fire Emblem fandom with an abundance of Valter/Selena fics on the rise. Whoo-hoo!

Adieu everyone!

_:SpeedDemon315:_


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